Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night is thick, heavy with a quiet that presses against Eren's ears as he walks through the forest. The only sound comes from his boots crunching the dead leaves beneath him. Above, the trees look like dark guardians, blocking out the starry sky and leaving him in near darkness.  His flashlight cuts a narrow path through the darkness. He's been here before. Too many times in too many lifetimes.

Ahead, barely visible in the pale light, stands the tree. The one where it all began. He pauses, his breath misting in the cool air, and takes it in. It looks the same as it always does: gnarled and twisted, roots half-buried, half exposed like skeletal fingers clutching at the earth. But this is more than just a tree. It's the start of everything, the cradle of destruction that shaped his life, that shaped countless lives before his own.

Eren steps forward. He's come here for a purpose, but there's an emptiness in his chest, a hollowness that even his resolve can't fill. No matter the timeline, no matter the choices he makes, the pain is always the same. 

When he reaches the tree, he presses his hand against its bark. It's rough, weathered by time, like the lines that have worn themselves into his mind. He moves around the trunk and finds the opening, the small passage that leads deeper into its hollow core. The roots are slick with moisture, and as he steps inside, his foot slips. He tumbles downward, arms flailing, until he hits the ground with a splash. Cold water closes over him, his body submerging in the blackness.

Eren surfaces, gasping. The flashlight floats beside him, still casting a narrow beam across the pool. He chuckles but the sound is bitter in his throat. Of course.

He grabs the flashlight and pushes through the water, feeling the cold seep into his bones. The interior of the tree is vast and cavernous, the roots above curling like monstrous tendrils. The walls are damp, glistening in the faint light, and the air smells of wet earth and something ancient, something almost alive. It feels wrong. It always has.

But this time is different. It has to be.

Eren climbs out of the water, breathing deeply as he stands at the edge of the pool. The light catches the surface of the water, making it shimmer. He wipes his face, blinking away droplets, and gazes into the shadows. What makes this one any different? What will change this time, when it never did before?

He doesn't know, but he has to try.

His bag drops to the floor with a dull thud. The sound echoes briefly, swallowed by the darkness. Eren pulls off his shirt, his fingers working as he sheds his clothes, layer by layer, until the cold air wraps around him. He should be shivering, but he's numb to it all now. Numb to everything. He steps back into the water, the ripples spreading out in slow waves as he wades deeper.

Beneath the surface, the water is dark and murky, but Eren plunges his head under, searching. He moves carefully and the memories blur into one another. But this moment, he knows it too well. The thing he's looking for... the source.

His eyes narrow as he scans the depths, and then he sees it.

The thing.

It's small, barely noticeable, but unmistakable. A centipede-like creature, its body twisting in the water, glowing faintly in the beam of his flashlight. Eren reaches out, his fingers closing around it, and pulls it from the depths. Water streams from its body as it writhes in his grasp, tiny legs twitching.

For a long moment, he just stares at it.

This. This is where it all began. This tiny, insignificant creature is the source of everything: the heartbreak, the death, the suffering. A single organism, tied to a thousand lifetimes of pain. He's held it before. He's let it live, let it run its course through him, through others, shaping history into the nightmare it always becomes. But not this time. 

Not again.

Eren walks back to the edge of the pool. He kneels down, placing the organism on the cold, wet stone. It twitches, writhing in its last moments. His jaw tightens as he picks up a rock, its surface rough in his palm.

This time... things will be different.

With one swift motion, he smashes the organism, the rock coming down with a sickening crunch. He hits it again, and again, until it's nothing but fragments, crushed into oblivion. Blood and bits of its body splatter the stone, staining the water at his feet.

Eren stares at the remains, his chest heaving.

"It has to be different," he whispers to the darkness. His voice is raw, trembling with a desperation he can't hide. "This time... it has to be."

The air is still around him, heavy with the weight of what he's done. There's no turning back now.

He stands, taking a deep breath, his fists clenched at his sides.

No more endless cycles of tragedy.

This time, they'll all live.

Chapter Text

Time moves slowly when your entire world crumbles.

Mikasa sits on the steps of her childhood home, the place where everything once made sense. The house looms behind her, its familiar shape distorted by the flashing red and blue lights that bounce off the windows. The sirens scream in the night, and each wail feels like a spike driving into her skull. She presses her palms against her temples, trying to dull the ache, but it's no use.

The blood stains her fingers. It's drying now, turning her skin sticky, caked with dark, rust-colored patches. It's on her clothes too, her sweater, her jeans. Every inch of her feels soaked in it. She stares at her hands, trembling. Her mind is blank. She wants to move, wants to run far away from the chaos, from the people shouting and the stretchers being wheeled out in slow motion. But she can't. Her body is frozen, glued to the cold steps.

This morning, she woke up in this house. She had breakfast with her parents, laughed with them over dinner two hours ago. Now, the same house is swarming with police officers, yellow tape stretching across the yard. She's detached, watching the scene play out like some distant nightmare she's not part of. It doesn't feel real. But then, in the corner of her eye, she sees the stretchers.

Two covered bodies.

Mikasa stares at them, at the white sheets pulled over the heads of the people she loves most in this world. The world tilts. Her stomach churns violently, nausea rising in her throat. The sight makes everything too real.

They're dead.

One of the bodies shifts slightly as the stretcher is loaded, and then, a hand falls loose, slipping from the sheet. A thin, pale hand with a ring. Her mother's ring. The one she wore every day. The one she never took off.

Her breath catches. Suddenly, there's no air. Her lungs burn, her chest tightens. The world around her, the voices, the flashing lights, it all collapses in on itself. She can feel herself falling, losing control.

A sound cuts through the panic, muffled at first, but then louder. Her name. Someone is calling her name.

"Mikasa? Mikasa!"

She blinks through the haze, through the tears she hadn't realized were falling. She swipes at her face, her sleeve dragging across her cheeks. When did she start crying?

A figure stands in front of her. It's a familiar one. Dr. Grisha Yeager, her family's doctor. She's known him since she was a child. His face is pale, creased with concern. He kneels down beside her, his hand hovering over her shoulder, hesitant.

"Mikasa, are you okay?" he asks.

Okay? The word rings in her head. She wants to laugh, to scream. How could he ask her that? She'll never be okay again. Not now. Not after this.

She stares at him, blinking slowly as if she's seeing him for the first time. He looks out of place, standing here in the middle of this chaos. Then she remembers he was here tonight. He showed up right after it happened. He was the first person to arrive, but why? Why was he here?

She remembers the look on his face when he walked in and saw it all. The men. Her parents. The blood. The knife in her hand. 

"Mikasa, the officer would like to ask you a few questions."

It takes a moment for the words to register. She looks up to see a woman in a black uniform, a badge hanging from her neck. Officer Ral, the name on her uniform reads. Her eyes are hard and cold. Mikasa can feel them piercing through her, probing, trying to read her. She looks away.

How will she explain that she doesn't know why she did it? She doesn't understand what possessed her. But she knows what happened. She killed them. The men who broke into her home. The men who took everything from her. She heard a voice and it said one word, the word that surged through her mind like a command, like instinct.

Fight.

Her throat tightens, and she starts to shake her head frantically.

"I...I can't," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "I can't."

Dr. Yeager exchanges a look with the officer, then turns back to her. "I know, Mikasa. I know it's hard," he says. "But the police need to ask you a few questions. We need to understand what happened."

She can't answer. She can't breathe. Her mind is racing, her thoughts spinning wildly out of control. The blood on her hands, her mother's ring, the flash of silver, the way the men collapsed at her feet. She shakes her head again, harder this time, the tears spilling over in a flood.

"I can't," she chokes, her voice breaking. "I can't do this."

The sobs come out then. Unstoppable, raw. She hugs her knees to her chest, curling in on herself. The grief presses down on her until she feels like she might disappear under its weight. Her chest heaves and each breath is more painful than the last. Dr. Yeager pulls her into his arms. She clutches him desperately, the fabric of his jacket bunched in her fists. She cries and cries until her eyes burn and her throat is raw.

The world tilts again, the edges of her vision growing dark. The lights blur into one another, swirling in dizzying patterns. Her head swims, her body is suddenly too heavy to hold up. She tries to say something, anything, but her voice won't come.

Then, everything fades as she collapses.

Two slow months pass.

The car hums quietly beneath Mikasa as they cruise down the long, winding road. Old school music blares from the speakers. She doesn't know the song but Dr. Yeager hums along to the tune, tapping his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. The sound grates against the quiet that's settled in her chest, and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, staring out the window.

She hasn't said much since they left. Maybe she should have. But words don't come as easy as they used to.

"You'll love the Survey Academy," Dr. Yeager says suddenly. His voice is loud over the music. "It's the best in the country, you know? You're lucky that you got in. Your grades from your old school...well, they were impressive. The scholarship committee practically jumped at the chance to have you."

Lucky.

She doesn't feel lucky. If she's anything, it's a ghost. A shadow of herself that's been drifting through the past two months without feeling anything. It's not that she doesn't remember, it's more that the memories play out in her head like a movie she's forced to watch. She often sees the sterile and cold hospital. She sees herself in the police station, answering questions that felt too invasive, reliving every second of that night. She sees her parents' funeral, with everyone gathered around her in somber silence. She didn't cry, not in front of them.

But later, when everyone was gone, when it was just her, she broke. The kind of breaking that makes you feel like you'll never be whole again.

Dr. Yeager offered her a room in his house shortly after, so she didn't have to be alone. She met his wife, she ate with them. She faked smiles and small talk, but it was a strain. At night, the walls closed in around her. 

Now, here she is, heading to boarding school like it's all behind her. 

Dr. Yeager glances at her from the corner of his eye, offering a smile that she doesn't return. "It'll be good for you," he says. "A fresh start. New people. And..." He pauses, as if the next part will mean something to her. "You'll finally meet Eren."

Mikasa frowns at the name. Eren Yeager. She's heard about him more times than she can count over the past two months. Dr. Yeager's son, the one who hasn't been home in a while, the one whose presence seems to linger in every room of their house. His mother, Clara, mentions him every day. Always in passing, with little details that feel too personal - like the fact that he likes his eggs scrambled. Mikasa never knows how to respond to any of it.

Dr. Yeager says she'll meet him, like it's a foregone conclusion that they'll become instant friends. As if they've known each other for years, and not like she's the impostor who's been living in his house, sitting at his dinner table, playing pretend family with his parents while he's gone.

She doesn't answer, just tightens her grip on the seat belt and keeps her eyes fixed on the road ahead. The trees lining the highway blur past her in streaks of green and brown. The car turns, and suddenly, she sees the Academy. It's a tall structure with dark, stone walls, standing tall against the horizon. Spires stretch up toward the sky and the iron gates creak as they pull open.

A shiver runs down her spine

The car pulls through the gate, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. It winds around the campus and pulls up in front of a massive building. Mikasa looks out the window, and a wave of anxiety rolls through her. It's a strange feeling. 

Dr. Yeager parks the car. "Here we are," he says brightly. "Welcome to Survey Academy. I'm sure you'll settle in soon enough."

Mikasa stares at the building, her heart sinking. Settle in. As if this place, with its towering walls, will ever feel like anything more than a prison. She doesn't feel like she belongs here. Not at the Academy. Not with the Yeagers. Not anywhere.

She looks at him and notices how his smile falters for a moment, but he says nothing. She clears her throat. "It looks...like an ancient castle," she mutters.

Dr. Yeager laughs. "I suppose it does, doesn't it? It's a very old institution."

She can tell. She's surprised it's still standing.

Mikasa opens the door and slips out of her seat, pulling her backpack over her shoulder. She looks up at the building structure before them. A sign that says "Admin Office" hangs above the entrance, and the doors are made of dark wood. Dr. Yeager appears next to her.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

She isn't. She doesn't think she ever will be.

He moves toward the entrance, motioning for her to follow him. She does. Inside, it's cold. The stone floor beneath her feet seems to stretch endlessly, polished to a shine that reflects the lights above. The walls, a mix of dark wood paneling and faded portraits seem to watch them as they walk toward the receptionist desk.

"Good evening, Beatrice," he says, voice a little too cheerful for the mood of the place. "Is Principal Smith in?"

Beatrice is a woman with ginger hair pulled back into a tight bun, wearing a crisp, white shirt. She nods. "He's in his office," she replies, glancing at Mikasa before turning her attention back to Dr. Yeager. "You can go right in."

Dr. Yeager thanks her with a nod and motions for Mikasa to follow. Together, they walk down the hall, passing door after door, each one identical, each one closed. The only sounds are their footsteps and the faint creak of the old wood underfoot.

They stop in front of a large door at the end of the hall. Dr. Yeager knocks once, then pushes it open, and they step into the office.

The room is large and minimalist with a huge oak desk in the middle. Bookshelves line the walls and a few pieces of modern art decorate the space. A man sits behind the desk. He stands when they enter, offering a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Erwin," Dr. Yeager greets, walking toward him with a smile.

Principal Erwin Smith returns the smile. He's a tall, broad-shouldered man with short blond hair and piercing blue eyes that flicker between Dr. Yeager and Mikasa as they approach.

"Hello, Grisha," he says.

They shake hands and exchange a few words. Then, his eyes land on Mikasa. He studies her for a second longer than feels comfortable. When he speaks again, it's measured, calm. "And you must be Mikasa Ackerman."

"Yes," she manages. She hates that she can't even talk without feeling like her nerves are strangling her.

He nods. "Welcome to Survey Academy. It's a pleasure to have you here."

"Thank you."

"Please, have a seat," he says as he steps around his desk.

The two chairs opposite his desk are solid, wooden things. Mikasa doesn't like the look of them. But she sits anyway, shifting nervously in her seat. Dr. Yeager sits next to her, leaning back and crossing his legs.

"Well, I suppose introductions are in order," the Principal starts, folding his hands neatly. "I'm Erwin Smith, the principal of Survey Academy."

Mikasa nods.

"Every student here is assigned to a counselor, someone to help guide them through their time at the Academy." He gestures toward a stack of papers on his desk. "Yours would normally meet you today, but he's not in. I've taken the liberty of preparing everything you'll need."

He hands her a folder, thick with papers. "Your class schedule, dorm information, a map of the school... it's all in here. Once you've settled into your dorm, come back, and you can collect your uniform."

Mikasa takes the file, nodding. "Thank you."

Dr. Yeager leans forward, shaking Principal Smith's hand. "I appreciate this, Erwin. Really."

Principal Smith offers a slight smile. "We're happy to have her."

Mikasa stands and Dr. Yeager places a hand on her shoulder, gently guiding her back toward the door. They leave the office, stepping back into the hallway and make their way back outside. As they step out of the building, she takes a deep breath, her lungs filling with the cool evening air. She barely has a moment to gather herself before she hears footsteps, quick, light, and hurried.

A boy, blonde hair tousled and bright against the darkening sky, bounds up the steps toward the building. His wide blue eyes are alive with energy, and his face breaks into an easy, carefree smile as he rushes towards them. "Mr. Yeager!" he yells.

Mikasa blinks. In this place, with its old stone and quiet halls, he seems out of place, like a burst of color in a world that's turned entirely gray.

Dr. Yeager blinks in surprise as the boy reaches them. "Armin?" he says. "What are you doing here?"

"Eren's in a sparring session right now. I saw your text and came instead," Armin responds, his voice light and cheery.

Mikasa watches the boy turns toward her, his smile growing even wider. "Hi, I'm Armin. Armin Arlert," he says, offering his hand. "Your tour guide for the day!"

She nods. "Mikasa," she says.

"Armin's the son of my dear friend. You're in good hands with him," Dr. Yeager says before he steps down toward the car. "Come. Let's grab your bags."

As he retrieves her luggage from the trunk, he speaks over his shoulder to Armin. "I've got to head to the clinic, but could you take Mikasa to the girls' dorm? Show her around a bit, maybe give her a tour of the grounds? I was really hoping Eren would do it but well…"

Armin laughs softly. "Sure thing, Mr. Yeager."

Dr. Yeager slams the trunk shut. He walks up to Mikasa and crouches down to her level. "I have to go," he says. "I want you to give this place a chance, Mikasa. Try to be happy, alright?"

Mikasa swallows, unsure of what to say. Happy? It seems like an impossible task. But she nods all the same. He hugs her briefly before turning toward the car. As the engine roars and the car pulls away, she can't help the wave of sadness that washes over her.

She glances over to see Armin struggling to lift her bags, his smaller frame wobbling slightly under the weight. "I can carry them myself," she offers, stepping forward.

He shakes his head. "No, I've got it! It's just..." He stumbles slightly, and Mikasa quickly grabs one of the bags before he can protest again.

She offers a quick smile, her first genuine one in what feels like forever.

Armin smiles sheepishly. "Thanks," he mutters. "Come on, the girls dorm isn't far."

As they walk, Mikasa takes in the campus grounds. The sun is just setting and the buildings look even more imposing. It's getting late so there are no students out by this point, leaving the campus deserted. The trees line the path, their branches arching over the walkways, creating a canopy that darkens as night creeps in. The air feels crisp, tinged with the scent of damp earth and old leaves.

Mikasa looks up at the dorm house as they approach it. Its dark brick exterior is covered in ivy and the windows are large but dark. Armin gestures toward the entrance. "Well, this is it. Boys aren't allowed inside, though, so I'll just wait out here while you drop off your things. Then we can head to get your uniform, if that's okay."

Mikasa nods, her throat suddenly tight. "Thanks," she murmurs.

Before she can take a step inside, a voice calls out behind her, sharp and slightly impatient. "Armin, when I text you, I expect a reply."

Armin looks past her and grins. "Oh, hey, Eren!"

Mikasa turns around, feeling her pulse quicken. Walking up to them is the boy she's heard about endlessly in the Yeager house. Eren Yeager. He looks older than he was in the pictures hanging around the house, taller too. His hair is longer and his eyes...they're a shade of green that seem almost too bright to be real. As his gaze meets hers, it's like time freezes for a split second.

He stops mid-step, his entire body stilling. His eyes widen, lips parting slightly as if he's about to say something but can't find the words. And for some reason, Mikasa feels it too, the way her heart skips, the way the world around them blurs and fades for just a moment.

There's something there, something she can't name. It passes between them in an instant, like a spark that flickers in the shadows, familiar, yet foreign. Mikasa isn't sure why. She doesn't know anything about him, aside from his name.

So why does it feel like she does?

Chapter Text

Armin clears his throat and Eren blinks. The look in his eyes shifts, something dark and cold settling in where, just moments before, there was something else, something Mikasa can't quite name. Now, his gaze is unreadable, as if he's closed off a door in his mind, locking whatever strange connection there was behind it.

Mikasa's  heart beats too fast for her liking and she looks away. What the hell was that?

Eren's voice is different when he speaks. It's rough, edged with a bitterness that makes her tense and it's directed at Armin. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

Armin shifts awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "I saw that your dad texted you about giving a new student a tour and since you were busy with sparring, I went over to meet him instead. He brought Mikasa to school. It's her first day here." He gestures toward her. "Mikasa, this is Eren. Dr. Yeager's son."

Mikasa risks another glance up at Eren and her stomach twists. His eyes are cold, completely detached, like he's staring through her rather than at her. That brief spark of recognition from earlier is gone, replaced with something harder, something impenetrable. He nods once, before shoving his hands into his pockets and turning away.

"I'll catch up later," he mutters, making his way past the building. "Call me when you're done."

"Wait, where are you going?" Armin calls after him, but Eren doesn't stop, doesn't even look back. He raises one hand in a dismissive wave before disappearing into the darkening campus grounds.

Armin sighs, a nervous smile pulling at his lips as he turns back to Mikasa. "Sorry about Eren," he says softly. "He doesn't do well around people."

Mikasa doesn't respond. There's something more to it, she can tell. Eren Yeager looked at her with a coldness that wasn't just about being uncomfortable around people. It was personal, but she doesn't ask, doesn't push. Instead, she simply nods, her fingers tightening around the strap of her backpack.

Armin shifts back into a lighter tone. "Well, come on, I'll help you with your bags, and then we'll go pick up your uniform together."

She nods and follows him toward the door. Right before she walks in, she takes one last look in the direction Eren disappeared. Something passed between them out there, something brief but intense.

And yet, it had been gone in an instant.

That night, Mikasa is unable to sleep.

Not that this is anything new. 

It's been hours since she settled in, lay down and pulled the covers over her head. Her eyes are fixed on the unfamiliar ceiling of the dorm room. The darkness feels thick, oppressive, and it presses down on her as the walls close in.

Breathe.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Mikasa tries to force her muscles to relax, her eyes to stay shut, her mind to stop racing.  It's the same way it had been when she first moved into the Yeager's house, those endless nights where sleep evaded her.

It doesn't help that the dorm room is too quiet. There's no sound except the clock on the wall ticking, the wind howling outside. She turns onto her side and opens her eyes, glancing around the room. It's simple, meant for two, but her roommate hasn't arrived yet. The bed on the other side is untouched. There's a large window directly across from the door, overlooking the school's shadowy back garden. 

Moonlight filters in through the glass, casting pale beams that stretch across the floor. The walls are bare, save for a single mirror and a small wooden desk tucked into the corner. The air is cool, too quiet.

Mikasa closes her eyes again and takes a deep breath. She can do this. She has to do this. She needs sleep. School starts officially tomorrow, and she can't function without rest.

She squeezes her eyes shut, forcing her mind to slow down.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

There's a noise.

At first, it's soft, a faint rattle. Mikasa's eyes snap open, straining against the dark. Was that the wind?

The sound comes again, louder this time. Her heart begins to pound. It's the door. Her door.

Mikasa sits up in bed, her body going rigid, instinct screaming in her veins. Her breath catches in her throat as her eyes dart toward the door. It's rattling, the knob twisting, the lock straining. Someone's trying to get in.

Not again.

Panic floods her senses, and before she can stop herself, she's out of bed, her bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor. Her mind flashes back, sudden, sharp images of that night. The door breaking open, footsteps pounding, her parents' voices cut off too soon. She doesn't have a weapon, but she has to have something. 

She stumbles toward the bedside table, her fingers fumbling for the lamp.  She grips it tightly, her hands trembling as she backs up against the wall, waiting.

The lock clicks.

Her body tenses as the door creaks open, shadows spilling into the room. Someone steps inside, moving carefully, but before they can fully enter, Mikasa acts. She swings the lamp with all her strength, her heart hammering in her chest.

The figure dodges at the last second, narrowly avoiding the blow. There's a startled scream, high, terrified.

"What the fuck?!"

Mikasa's breath is ragged, her hands still clutching the lamp. The sound of the scream jolts her, and she blinks. The person stumbles backward into the dim light of the hallway, clutching their head in fear.

It's a girl. She looks about Mikasa's age. Long, brown hair frames a narrow face, which is twisted in confusion. Her brown eyes widen as she stares at Mikasa, taking in the sight of her holding the lamp.

"W-what are you doing?" she manages.

Mikasa's chest heaves. The lamp slips from her grip and clatters to the floor. Her heart is still pounding. She steps back, blinking rapidly, trying to ground herself.

"I...I'm sorry," she manages to say and guilt gnaws at her insides.

The girl looks stunned. "Jesus Christ! Did you think I was a murderer or something?"

Mikasa swallows hard. Her throat is dry. Her pulse is slowing now, her breathing evening out. She shakes her head slowly.

"It's okay. It's my fault," the girl says. "I didn't know you moved in already. I lost my key and decided to pick the lock." She glances down at the lamp. "That could have killed me, by the way."

Mikasa runs a hand through her hair, letting out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," she says again.

"It's fine. I should've knocked," the girl cuts herself off, nervously shifting on her feet. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Mikasa manages a nod, not knowing what to say. She just this girl, and now, she looks like a complete fool.

The girl seems to sense her discomfort. She smiles and offers her hand. "Well, since we're roommates, let's try this again. My name's Sasha Braus."

Mikasa stares down at her outstretched hand. After a few moments, she takes it.

"I'm Mikasa," she says quietly.

Sasha's smile is warm, bright even in the dark. "Nice to meet you, Mikasa," she says before letting go and stepping into the room and turning on the light. "I usually take a night bus from the city. It's an easy way to not deal with traffic, so I ended up arriving late. I'm sorry I woke you up."

Mikasa wants to say she wasn't sleeping anyway but she doesn't. Instead, she nods, her eyes trailing after Sasha as she makes her way into the room. She's carrying a huge suitcase, which she drops unceremoniously in the middle of the floor.

"I'll unpack later," the girl says as she glances around the room, taking it in.

Before Mikasa can say anything, Sasha begins to move around the room, stripping off her clothes without a second thought. Mikasa's hands fidget at her sides, unsure where to look. She quickly averts her gaze and makes her way over to the bed. Sliding under the covers, she pulls them up to her chin, trying to block out the awkwardness settling in her chest.

Sasha must be a very relaxed person, she thinks. She's not bothered by the fact that her roommate tried to attack her with a lamp. If anything, she's acting like it never happened.

The girl hums softly, some tune that Mikasa doesn't recognize. "When'd you get here?" she asks, her voice muffled as she pulls off her shirt.

"Today," Mikasa murmurs.

Sasha pauses, blinking before stretching her arms above her head, yawning deeply. "Not a lot of people come on the first day." She yawns again, louder this time, a sleepy smile spreading across her face. "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning, okay?"

Mikasa nods, her lips pressed together and watches as Sasha climbs into bed, dressed only in her underpants. She blinks, a little startled by her roommate's casual attitude, but says nothing. In a matter of minutes, the sound of Sasha's soft snores fill the room, and she is left alone.

She rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. Is her roommate that tired, or is it just easier for her to slip into dreams, leaving the world behind? 

Mikasa wishes it was that easy for her to sleep.

It takes her a long time to finally drift off, but when she does, she dreams of blood.

When Mikasa wakes the next morning, it's to the sound of running water, droplets pattering rhythmically against the tile. Her eyes flutter open, and for a moment, the unfamiliar room disorients her. A tight feeling settles in her chest. Then, her eyes settle on the window across from the door, and the panic ebbs away. It's only her new room.

Right.

She's at Survey Academy.

The water stops abruptly, and she watches as Sasha steps out of the bathroom, steam following her like a ghostly veil. Sasha's side of the room is a chaotic mess, clothes strewn across the floor in haphazard piles, an open suitcase with its contents spilling out, half-finished snacks littering her desk and a tangled heap of blankets at the foot of her bed.

Mikasa sits up. "Good morning."

Sasha jumps, letting out a small yelp before turning around with wide eyes. "Oh, wow, you can be really quiet! I didn't know you were awake," she says, clutching her towel dramatically. "Good morning!" 

Mikasa watches as Sasha moves across the room, still half-damp from the shower. 

"We've got an hour before breakfast," her roommate says, "so you might want to get up and head to the bathroom. Don't want to be late for Meatball Monday."

Mikasa blinks, not sure if that's something to be excited about, but she nods, pulling herself out of bed.

"What year are you in?" Sasha asks suddenly, tugging a wrinkled shirt from a pile.

"First year," Mikasa replies softly.

"Same here!" Sasha beams, her hands busy sorting through the mess on her bed. "We can go to class together as long as you get ready on time. The line for breakfast can be brutal and I am starving."

Mikasa eyes the snack wrappers and empty chip bags on Sasha's desk, then she makes her way to the bathroom. She shuts the door behind her and stares at her reflection in the mirror. Her face looks pale, her dark eyes a little hollow. Her hair is growing longer now, brushing against her shoulders in dark, tangled waves.

She wonders if she should cut it.

She shakes the thought away and steps into the shower. The hot water feels good on her skin. She stands there for a while, letting it ease her nerves. But it doesn't last long. The knot in her chest tightens again as she steps out and wraps herself in a towel, glancing at the fogged-up mirror one last time.

The last time she was the new girl on the first day of school, she had her mother's encouraging voice, her father's kind smile. She remembers her father telling her to make friends, make good ones, and her mother reminding her to always stand up for what's right.

And now...

A knock at the door startles her. "Come on, Mikasa, hurry. Think of the meatballs," Sasha calls, sounding more urgent than before.

When she re-enters the room, Sasha is already dressed, now focused on arranging the clutter into some semblance of order. Mikasa walks over to her wardrobe, where her uniform hangs neatly, untouched. She hesitates, staring at the crisp fabric. 

The woman who had handed it to her had barely looked at her before giving it over. She hopes it fits, hopes it doesn't make her look worse than she feels. 

She takes a deep breath, her fingers brushing over the fabric, and braces herself for the day ahead.

After breakfast, Mikasa and Sasha make their way across the campus, their shoes crunching against the ground. They sky above looks gray, heavy with threatening clouds, and a chilly wind blows through the trees. It was like this yesterday as well and Mikasa wonders if this is what the weather is always like at Survey Academy...muted, as if the clouds are holding something back.

More students flood the walkways, all clad in the standard black and white uniforms. The girls wear pleated skirts and button-up shirts, the boys in sharp trousers and crisp jackets, each bearing the same crest on their chests: a pair of wings intertwined. The sight of it feels strangely significant to Mikasa, even though she can't place why. Her fingers brush against the embroidered patch, and a weird feeling passes through her, like a shadow slipping over her skin. 

She's being watched.

She stops, glances behind her, and sees nothing but the other students moving past. Still, she can't shake the feeling that someone is looking at her.

Sasha's voice snaps her back to reality. "Hey, is something wrong?"

Mikasa swallows, shaking her head slightly. She follows her roommate closely.

As they continue to walk, Sasha yawns. "We have Hange first period," she says, a lazy grin spreading across her face. "They never show up early, so I'll get some nap time in."

Mikasa barely responds, still distracted by the prickling sensation creeping along the back of her neck. They approach the steps leading to the school building. At the top, two boys stand near the entrance, laughing about something. 

"Connie!" Sasha shouts, waving wildly.

One of them, a bald-headed boy looks up at her. His face lights up as if they hadn't seen each other in years. He has a small stature and a friendly face with sharp eyes.  He waves back enthusiastically, and both of them dash toward each other, embracing like long-lost siblings.

"I missed you, you idiot!" Sasha laughs, squeezing him tight.

"I missed you more!" Connie replies dramatically.

Mikasa watches them, her hands curling at her sides. But then she notices the other boy. He's taller, with a head of short, messy brown hair and a strong jawline. He's looking at her, his gaze lingering just a bit too long, but there's nothing cold about it.

Sasha pulls away from Connie. "Why are you staring at her like that, Jean?" she asks, smacking the boy lightly on the arm.

He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head. "I was just wondering who she was."

Sasha beams. "She's my new roommate! Mikasa, this is Jean," she says. "Jean, this is Mikasa. She's new at the Academy."

Jean flashes a crooked smile, stretching his hand out towards her. "Nice to meet you," he says in a smooth voice.

"You too," Mikasa replies, accepting the handshake.

He stares at that hands for a moment. Then his eyes slide up to meet hers. "I like your hair," he says. The comment is light, but there's something in his voice that makes it feel almost... intimate.

Mikasa feels the corners of her mouth lift, despite herself. "Thanks," she mutters, but the strange, cold feeling creeps back into her chest, chilling her bones. It's like ice water running down her spine, the same sensation from before.

Someone is watching her.

She turns slowly, and her heart tightens when she sees him. Eren Yeager stands a few feet away, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark. Beside him, Armin looks between them, as if unsure whether to speak or not. 

Eren's stare is cold, piercing, and for a moment, Mikasa can't move, can barely breathe. Her eyes trace his face, landing on a small scar near his brow. That strange feeling from the day before washes over her and her heart starts to race.

Eren breaks eye contact first. He glances away and the spell is broken. Armin gives Mikasa a small wave and she manages a slight nod. Then the two turn and walk inside, disappearing into the crowd of students.

Someone says something, but Mikasa doesn't hear it. Her entire body is tensed, like she's on the edge of a cliff.

What was that?

Chapter Text

In a thousand realities, Mikasa Ackerman falls in love with Eren Yeager.

In a thousand realities, he falls in love with her.

And in a thousand realities, their love meets a bitter, inevitable end.

Eren's breath comes in ragged bursts as he pushes himself harder, feet pounding against the earth. His heart is racing, faster than usual. He tells himself it's because of the run, but deep down, he knows better. It's not the cardio that's making his chest feel tight. It's her. The memory of Mikasa is like a ghost from every nightmare he's tried to outrun. She haunts him now with every breath, every step.

He grits his teeth, turning sharply down a narrow path that winds deeper into the forest surrounding Survey Academy. The branches reach out like skeletal fingers, clawing at him as he passes, but he doesn't slow down. The pain in his legs, the burn in his lungs, it's good. Maybe it will distract him from the chaos in his mind, from the fact that she's here.

What is she even doing here? She shouldn't be here. 

Not at this school. Not close to him.

Eren was careful. He had made all the right choices, set every piece in place to ensure that their paths wouldn't cross in this life. He didn't look for her. He chose this isolated academy, far from the city, nestled in the woods where their fate couldn't reach him. He made sure to never ask his father about her, to erase every trace of her from his world, to stay away from the places where their lives had intertwined in other realities.

Eren thought that maybe, just maybe, if he stayed out of sight, if he let the universe bend itself in a different direction, they would finally be free.

But now she's here, like a cruel joke, and it's as if the universe is laughing at him.

You can't stop anything.

A branch slaps his face, drawing him out of his thoughts, and he stumbles. He curses, the skin on his cheek burning. A small trickle of blood rolls down from his brow, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. His body aches, every muscle on fire. He wonders if back at the girls dorm, she had  felt the same thing, the pull that brought them together over and over again, only to tear them apart in the end.

No. She couldn't have. Eren had done everything he could to keep them apart, to stop that cycle from spinning again.

Yet she was here.

He leans against the rough bark of a tree, closes his eyes, and forces himself to breathe slowly, but it doesn't help. Mikasa is here, and she's still the most beautiful person he's ever seen. Her long, black hair frames her pale skin, and those sharp eyes, always watching, always cutting right through him, make his chest tighten. She pulls at him in ways that defy every decision he's made to stay away. She carries the same quiet strength she always has, but there's something softer about her now.

When he saw her with Armin, he almost pulled her into his arms. Just to hold her, just to breathe her in and see how different this version of her is. Would she feel the same? Would she smell the same?

In the original reality, Mikasa often smelled of blood, sweat, and the dust of Paradis. He had loved that scent so much that he'd memorized it, clung to it like a lifeline when everything around them was chaos and destruction. In other realities, her scent had shifted, sometimes faintly floral, sometimes crisp like the air after a storm, but in every one, it had followed him, haunted him.

He wonders now, in this world, how much of her is different? How much of her remains the same?

Eren sighs. It's going to be harder to control himself now that she's here. He knows that, and worse, he knows she'll feel it too. Against her better judgment, Mikasa will be drawn to him, like a moth to a flame, and he can't let that happen.

He's worked too hard, sacrificed too much to protect her and Armin. Everything he's done up until now was to give them, and their friends, something they could never have in their original reality: a chance at normalcy. A world where they could grow up as kids, go to school, laugh, cry, and never know what it feels like to lose everything to a darkness they couldn't fight.

No matter what, Mikasa Ackerman cannot fall in love with Eren Yeager this time. And as much as it tears him apart, he'll do whatever it takes to make sure she doesn't.

"Eren," a voice calls, breaking through his thoughts.

Eren opens his eyes and looks up to see a figure moving through the misty underbrush. 

Erwin.

Without thinking, he pushes himself off the tree and charges forward, his hand flying to Erwin's collar before he can stop himself.

"Why didn't you warn me?" Eren growls in a trembling voice.

Erwin glances down at the hand clutching his collar, then calmly lifts an eyebrow. 

Eren grits his teeth, his jaw locking as he lets go, taking a step back. His fists clench at his sides. "Sorry," he mutters under his breath.

Erwin takes a moment to adjust his jacket, brushing off imaginary dirt, his eyes never leaving Eren. There's something about the way his former commander looks at him in this reality, cool, calculated, always a step ahead. "I'm guessing you've seen the girl," he says at last.

Eren's heart pounds faster. "What is she doing here?" he asks. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Erwin sighs, his gaze softening just a fraction. "I didn't know," he says, running his fingers through his hair. "Not until her scholarship was approved. Grisha only told me he was bringing in a new student. I put in a word for him, thought nothing of it."

"You didn't know?"

Erwin shakes his head. "It wasn't until her file landed on Levi's desk that I realized. By then, it was too late." His voice drops, almost to a whisper. "Especially after finding out... what happened."

Eren's brow furrows. "What happened?"

Erwin crosses his arms. "Mikasa lost her parents two months ago."

Eren's stomach drops, a cold, sickening feeling spreading through him. "That's impossible," he says, his voice strained. "I stopped that from happening. I stopped it ten years ago."

His mind spins, pulling him back to that day. A decade ago, Mikasa's life was meant to change forever. He remembers it clearly, the way the air felt heavy, the way his heart pounded as he stood outside her house. The men who were supposed to take her parents... he killed them before they could step inside, before they could ruin everything. He had saved them. Saved her.

That was the night they were supposed to meet each other for the first time. By stopping that tragedy, he ensured they would never meet in this reality, ensured they wouldn't have a chance to fall in love.

Or so he thought.

"I did," Eren says, his voice cracking. "I went back. I changed it. I stopped them."

Erwin's eyes darken, and he steps closer. "It appears," he says quietly, "that it repeated itself. Ten years later, two different men found their way into the house again. They killed both her parents. And then Mikasa killed them. Grisha found her... right after."

Eren feels the ground tilt beneath him. It happened again. It still happened. Despite everything he did... it all came back. 

You can't stop anything.

Erwin's voice breaks through the static in his mind. "We still don't know everything, Eren. Your actions have changed things, yes, but we can't be sure how much. This could be an anomaly, but we'll study it, and we'll get our answers."

Eren stares at him, jaw clenched, fury and frustration tightening his chest. The methodical way Erwin speaks grates against him like nails on glass. "That's all you care about, isn't it? Getting your answers, knowing whether your father was right, why things happened the way they did. You want to know why he had to die. But me? I don't care about any of that. I just want to keep my friends safe."

Erwin watches him for a long moment, eyes narrowed. Then,  "We want the same thing. Just for different reasons. Those answers, the ones I'm after, are the very same that led me to you. They are the answers that can ensure your friends stay safe forever, that what happened in those other realities never happens again."

A bitter taste rising in Eren's mouth. He can't argue with that, not completely. He leans against a tree and looks away, his fingers curling into fists.

Erwin lets the silence linger for a moment before speaking again. "It hasn't been announced yet, but Rod Reiss is hosting a dance for the students soon at his manor."

Eren turns his head slightly, eyes narrowing at the mention of Reiss.

"If you attend," Erwin continues, "I can help you get into his office. There might be something there, something that could help us figure this out. Maybe even something that ties to what's happening now."

Eren nods, almost reluctantly. His mind is already calculating, trying to piece together how Mikasa's presence could mean something more. Nothing he's stopped has ever repeated itself. So why did the worst night of her life repeat itself? Why now?

Before he can say anything, Erwin adds, "I'm leaving now. You should head to class."

He turns, his broad frame cutting through the mist of the forest, the sound of leaves crunching beneath his boots. But just as he's about to disappear from view, he pauses. Erwin looks over his shoulder, eyes catching Eren's. "Just because Mikasa Ackerman is here," he says softly, "doesn't mean history has to repeat itself."

Eren's eyes darken. "I know," he says. "And it won't."

Erwin studies him for a moment longer, then nods and walks away, the shadows of the forest swallowing him whole.

Eren closes his eyes. The wind rustles through the leaves, carrying with it a chill that seeps into his bones. He has to move forward. She's here now, in this reality, and already the threads are tangling. Already, fate seems to be pulling at the edges of their lives, weaving them back together.

But not this time. He won't let it.

Because this time, he'll make sure she stays as far away from him as possible.

No matter how much it hurts.

After his run, Eren heads back to his dorm room. Armin must have gone down to the cafeteria for breakfast because he isn't in when Eren gets there. He steps into the shower and the hot water is a welcome relief from the chill of the morning. When he's done, he pulls on a fresh pair of trousers and a crisp white shirt, and packs his hair up into a bun. His fingers brush against his temples and a flash of the past flickers behind his eyes.

Mikasa's hands slide up his arms, her nails digging into his skin, as she kisses him, her tongue flicking against his, tasting every inch of him.

That's a memory from the 604th reality. He closes his eyes, shaking his head to clear the image. It's not the first time something like that has crept into his mind since seeing her, and he knows it won't be the last.

Eren steps out of the dorm, his freshly knotted tie still slightly askew as the cold air bites at his damp hair. His phone tings in his pocket, and he pulls it out to see a message from Armin: 

> Where are you? I've been waiting for fifteen minutes!

Eren clicks his tongue, a half-annoyed sound, but a smile tugs at his lips. Despite everything, despite the pain and chaos of a thousand different lives, there are some constants he can't help but like. Like Armin. Armin is still his friend, in every universe, always there with a gentle grin and bright blue eyes. He couldn't push Armin away, even when he tried, even when he thought everyone around him would get hurt just by being close. Armin stayed.

Walking up to the building, he sees the familiar blonde figure. Armin grins wide, waving like they haven't seen each other in years. Eren feels a warmth bloom in his chest as his best friend jogs over. It's him who makes this life feel normal, like Eren is just another teenage boy, dealing with the same petty problems as everyone else.

"Guess who we have first period?" Armin says, falling into step beside Eren.

"Hmm, Levi?"

"Nope, Hange."

Eren chuckles. "Really? I kind of missed them."

As they walk up the steps, students filter past them in black-and-white uniforms, some laughing, some chatting in hushed tones. The sky above threatens rain at any moment.

"Did you eat yet?" Armin asks, looking up at him.

"I'm not really hungry," Eren replies.

"You always say that, but research suggests that breakfast is the most important..."

Armin keeps talking, about the science behind breakfast and then something about and Teriyaki Tuesdays and Flapjack Fridays, but Eren's mind isn't on the words. His eyes catch on something ahead, and his body goes rigid, like a wire pulled too tight. His heart stumbles over itself as his gaze locks on the scene unfolding before him. Mikasa. She's standing near the entrance, but she's not alone.

She's holding Jean Kirstein's hand.

Eren's fingers twitch at his side, curling into a fist. His jaw tightens, a slow burn rising from somewhere deep in his gut. It's irrational, he knows it is, but the jealousy that surges through him is stronger than any rational thought.

He watches them, his eyes tracing every movement, every expression. Something primal twists inside him. It's not the first time he's felt this; it's like a cruel joke the universe plays on him in every timeline. How is it possible that Jean Kirstein can never stay far away from the woman he loves? Why does the universe insist on bringing them together, over and over?

Armin says something, but Eren doesn't hear it. His vision narrows on Jean and Mikasa. They're standing too close. He wants to march over, yank Mikasa away, let Jean know he can't have her this time.

But he doesn't.

He forces himself to breathe.

Mikasa suddenly looks up. Their eyes meet, and for a brief, dangerous moment, Eren can't look away. An ache rises in his chest, a yearning so painful he can hardly bear it. He loves her. He's loved her a thousand times. Falling in love with Mikasa is as inevitable as the sun rising every morning. He'll keep loving her, everyday.

Even if that love is destined to be a beautiful tragedy.

Chapter Text

Mikasa's gaze drifts to the clock hanging above the blackboard. Its hands tick slowly. Half an hour has passed since the bell rang, but their teacher has yet to arrive. The lab is chaotic. The second years are sprawled in their seats, some slouched over their desk, some laughing loudly, while a few are already lost in their own worlds, doodling or scrolling through their phones. Laughter bursts from a group at the far end, where a few students are tossing around a rubber ball. The sound bounces off the walls and mingles with the rustling of paper and the scrape of chairs. 

From behind her, Sasha says, "Hange never shows up early. For all we know, they might still be in the shower right now."

Mikasa turns, raising an eyebrow. "No one has ever complained about that?" she asks dryly, her gaze drifting over to Jean, who sits right next to Sasha.

"Who doesn't like a little extra time to rest?" he quips.

Sasha chuckles and points at Connie, who sits next to Mikasa. He's fast asleep, his mouth agape, and drool pools at the corner of his lips. Mikasa wrinkles her nose.

Her eyes flicker to the back of the room, where Eren Yeager sits, slouched in his chair. In front of him, Armin is talking animatedly, his hands gesturing wildly as he shares some story that makes Eren's lips curl into a subtle smile. Mikasa studies the boy and her heart skips a beat as she takes in the details—his long brown hair, the way the light catches the angles of his jaw, the intense green of his eyes. Those eyes move, and suddenly they find hers. She quickly looks away, feeling her cheeks flush. He caught her staring.

"Hey," Sasha whispers, leaning in closer. "Do you know Eren Yeager?"

Mikasa blinks. "What?"

"I saw Armin wave at you," Sasha says. "If you're friends with Armin, you must be friends with Eren, right?"

Jean scoffs. "Yeager doesn't have friends. He's too good for the rest of us."

"He has Armin," Mikasa points out.

Jean rolls his eyes. "Armin is more of a lackey than anything with the way he follows Eren around."

Mikasa's gaze drifts back to Eren and Armin. Armin is still talking, while Eren listens intently. There's a strange flutter in her stomach as she looks away, just as the door swings open.

"Sorry for the wait, everyone!" a voice exclaims.

The entire room snaps to attention as Hange Zoë, the science teacher, marches in. Hange is a lanky, tall individual with short brown hair, round glasses, and a friendly face. Their clothes aren't ironed, and their shirt is halfway untucked. They throw their bag on the desk, grinning wide, their eyes roaming the room.

"Welcome to second-year chemistry, everyone!" their voice rings out. "I hope you all had fantastic holidays because it's time to get back to work!"

They begin to move through the lab and all eyes are on them, watching, listening, some leaning forward as if it would make their words easier to hear. "We're going to be taking things up a notch this semester," they continue. "Last year, I told you about how this year will be less theoretical and more about getting our hands dirty! You'll find that I spent four hours last night high on caffeine, partnering you up for the semester!"

Murmurs and whispers break out among the students. Hange laughs.

"I'm going to list a few rules when it comes to the lab work," they say. "First, the safety regulations are there for a reason. Wear gloves, safety glasses, and protective equipment. No exceptions. Second, no food in the labs."

Mikasa feels a flutter of anxiety when Hange pauses next to her table. She hopes they don't call her out and force her to do that awkward introduction thing every teacher makes a new student do. Thankfully, they don't. Hange's gaze lands on Connie instead, who is still drooping in his seat.

"Mr. Springer! Did you have too much coffee last night as well?" they tease, leaning down and tapping him on the head.

Connie jolts awake, his eyes wide. He mumbles out an apology, rubbing his eyes with his fists. The laughter from the class ripples through the room.

With a satisfied smile, Hange resumes her pace. "And the last rule - you'll be stuck with your partners for the rest of the semester. No switching partners. Quite honestly, I don't have the strength to open up that document on my laptop and edit."

The students nod and Mikasa turns to glance at Sasha who grins and gives her a thumbs-up. Hange pauses at their desk, pulling out a sheet of paper. Their expression turns serious for a moment. "Okay, I will now list out the pairings. Annie and Reiner... Ymir and Armin..."

Mikasa feels a nervousness creeping over her. It's irrational, she knows. But this is the first time she's been forced to interact with other people in a long time. She hopes she gets paired up with Sasha, Connie or Jean.

"... and Mikasa is with Eren."

Mikasa freezes, her heart stumbling over itself.

Did she hear that correctly?

Her heart skips, her eyes widen. She slowly turns her head to where Eren sits at the back of the room. His expression mirrors hers—shock, yes—but there's something darker there, something that looks more like anger. His lips press into a thin line. He's upset. Really upset.

The lab suddenly feels smaller. She can feel her pulse in her throat as the rest of Hange's words blur into the background. The others in the class are starting to shuffle their chairs, swapping seats and moving to sit with their assigned partners. Sasha gently touches Mikasa's shoulder as she passes by. "Good luck," she whispers with a smile. "You'll need it.”

Mikasa watches as Jean and Connie move off to sit with their new partners, leaving her sitting alone. Her gaze drifts back to Eren. He hasn't budged. His fists remain clenched atop his desk, knuckles white. The lines of his jaw are sharp. He's so rigid, he looks like a statue carved from stone.

A part of her hopes he'll stand and come to her, but when it becomes clear he has no intention of moving, she draws in a slow breath. If he won't come to her, she'll have to go to him. She picks up her things and moves through the maze of students as they settle into their new places.

She stops in front of him, waiting for him to acknowledge her, but his eyes remain fixed on the desk. She frowns. What is his problem? Ever since she arrived at the academy, Eren Yeager has acted like nothing but a jerk. Now that he's her chemistry partner for the semester, his mood has somehow soured even more.

She hops on the stool next to him. "I guess we're partners," she says at last.

It takes a moment before his gaze flickers up, and when it does, she's almost taken aback. There's a storm brewing in those green eyes. Anger? Frustration? It's hard to tell.

"Yeah," he says in a flat voice. "We are."

Before Mikasa can respond, Hange stands at the front of the lab and claps their hands. "Alright, everyone! Today we'll be working with acids and bases, testing pH levels and learning how to neutralize them safely. Simple enough, right?" 

They walk around, passing out trays with glass beakers, litmus paper, and droppers filled with various solutions. "Make sure you've all got gloves and goggles on," they say. "We'll be using weak acids, but still, better safe than sorry! And no, Sasha, no drinking the solutions, no matter how good they look!"

Laughter ripples through the room, but Mikasa barely hears it. Her eyes remain on Eren, who is focused on the back of the person in front of him. He hasn't said anything else, hasn't even looked her way. 

Hange continues. "To start, each pair will test the pH of these solutions using the litmus paper and record your findings. After that, we'll neutralize the acid with a base and observe the reactions. It's simple, but remember, be careful not to spill anything."

As the final trays are passed around, Eren wordlessly takes one and sets it in front of them. His movements are slow. Mikasa watches him and her chest tightens. Why?

"So... the litmus paper turns red in acid, blue in base," she begins awkwardly. "I think we should test the one in this beaker first."

Eren nods, picking up the paper and dipping it into a solution, noting the color and marking the pH levels on the paper. Mikasa does the same, but her focus keeps shifting back to him, to the way his brows are slightly furrowed in concentration, to the way his long hair falls around his face.

He's beautiful. She can't help but watch the way his fingers move, the way the muscles in his arm tense and ripple with each movement. Her eyes slide down to the exposed skin at his collar and a flush rises in her cheeks.

"Hey," he says suddenly, snapping her out of her daze.

Mikasa startles, then reaches for a dropper to add the base to the acid they've tested. As she leans forward, her grip slips on the glass, and the beaker wobbles precariously. Before she can react, Eren's hand shoots out, steadying it, but not before a small splash lands on his wrist.

A sharp hiss escapes him, and Mikasa's eyes widen. "Oh my God," she gasps, grabbing his arm, her gloved fingers wrapping around his wrist. "Are you okay?"

The coldness of his skin gives way to a flash of heat, and suddenly, the sterile air of the chemistry lab disappears. For a split second, she isn't in the lab anymore — she's somewhere else, somewhere familiar yet distant.

The world around her shifts, and she's standing on bloodstained grass, the sky above clouded with smoke. Buildings burn in the distance, and there's the sound of frantic footsteps, of roars that make the earth tremble. Her heart pounds and she turns to see Eren— the same Eren, but different — his hair is shorter and his clothes are stained with mud and blood.

But the eyes, those green eyes, they are the same.

They're angry.

As quickly as it came, the vision shatters. The cold lab returns and the murmur of students fills the air again. Mikasa's breath catches in her throat. Eren pulls his arm back sharply, ripping it from her grasp as though her touch burns him. His eyes are wide, his jaw clenched tight. "I'm fine," he mutters, but the edge in his voice betrays him. His wrist is already reddening where the acid hit.

Her heart pounds as she stares at him, guilt flooding her. "Eren, I—"

But he's already pushing his chair back, standing abruptly. He walks past her, to the front of the room.

Hange sighs from across the room. "Everyone, again, be careful with the chemicals! We don't need any accidents." She waves a hand at Eren, gesturing for him to go. "Go ahead, Yeager. Tell the nurse it was an accident... and for the rest of you, take note. This is why we listen to safety instructions."

Mikasa's focus remains Eren as he walks toward the door with tense shoulders. This was her fault. He was hurt because of her mistake. She should have been more careful.

As the door clicks shut behind him, she stares down at her hands on the table. Something happened when she touched him. What she saw, it felt

...familiar.

The staff building is quiet when Mikasa steps in. It has an old-world charm, with dark wooden walls and polished floors that gleam under the afternoon light seeping through tall windows. She moves past potted plants, antique-looking light fixtures and the scent of fresh paper and coffee fills the hallway.

When she arrives at the receptionist's desk, a young woman with sharp eyes hidden behind thin-rimmed glasses, glances up at her.

"Good afternoon, I'd like to see my counsellor," Mikasa says. "But there's nothing about them in my file."

"Sure honey," the woman says in an accent that sounds vaguely American. "What's your name?"

"Mikasa Ackerman."

For a moment, silence stretches between them. The woman stares at her for a moment, almost too long, eyes narrowing slightly before it drops back to her computer screen. Her fingers resume tapping away. Mikasa shifts her weight, crossing her arms. The woman clears her throat, her brows pinching together.

"Yes, Levi is in," she says, finally. "Fifth door on the left."

Mikasa nods. She makes her way down the hall. When she reaches the fifth door on the left, she takes a deep breath and raises her fist.

One knock. Two.

"Come in," a curt voice calls from inside.

Mikasa pushes the door open and steps inside. The first thing that hits her is the smell—clean, crisp, almost too perfect. Like the air has been scrubbed of any imperfections. The office is neat with every object precisely in its place. The desk literally gleams, catching the light streaming in from the tall windows. The papers on the desk are arranged with military precision, and not a speck of dust dares to settle anywhere.

Mikasa's eyes land on a short man next to the desk. He's dressed in a pristine white shirt, ironed so sharply it looks like it could cut. His pants are pressed to perfection, his shoes polished to a mirror finish. Nothing is out of place—not his dark hair, slicked back, nor the deep scowl carved into his face. It's a scowl that feels like it belongs, as though if he smiled, a world disaster would happen.

His eyes meet hers, and for a moment, she feels like a bug caught in his gaze, as though he's already dissected her and found her wanting.

"Who the hell are you?" His voice cuts through the room.

Mikasa stiffens slightly. "I'm Mikasa Ackerman," she says. "You're my counsellor."

His frown deepens, if that's even possible, and for a moment, it looks like he's offended by her very existence. He presses the bridge of his nose and a long sigh escapes him. 

"Sit," he says flatly, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

Mikasa lowers herself into the seat, her gaze flicking over the plaque on the desk. The name carved into it catches her attention, and her eyes widen slightly as the letters form in her mind.

"Ackerman?" she says, almost to herself, before looking up at him again. "Mr... Ackerman?"

His jaw clenches, the muscle ticking visibly beneath his skin. "Just call me Levi," he says as he moves over to his seat.

"We're..."

"Related, yes," Levi says, sighing.

Mikasa shifts uneasily in her seat, her fingers curling around the edge of the chair as she contemplates her next words.

"When you were assigned to me, I rejected it," Levi said. "But it seems Erwin had other plans."

The bluntness of his words hits Mikasa harder than she expects. Damn. She's not sure how she's supposed to feel about that. 

Levi leans back into his char. "If you're curious, I tried to find out about our connection," he says. "The Ackermans... we were once more of a clan than family. You and I are distant relatives. Cousins, I think."

A faint ache throbs behind her eyes. A distant and hazy memory tries to come forth. Her parents never mentioned any about their family and for her, it was enough. But now that she doesn't have anyone...

She swallows hard, unsure of how to respond. So she says the only thing she can think of: "Oh."

Levi narrows his eyes at her. "Your file," he says, extending a hand.

Without a word, Mikasa pulls the file from her bag and hands it to him. As he flips through it, the room fills with the rustle of papers, but his face remains unreadable. Mikasa watches him, trying to pick apart the similarities between them. He's sharp, disciplined, as rigid as the iron-straight lines of his shirt. Is there anything in her that resembles this?

After a few moments, he looks up. "Have you selected an extra-curricular?"

Mikasa shakes her head, leaning back slightly. "No," she says. "I was active in sports at my old school... but after my parents..." Her voice falters, so she doesn't finish the sentence. "I don't do sports anymore."

Levi gives a slow, thoughtful nod, but his voice is as flat as stone when he says, "Try one of the fighting classes here—judo, karate, that sort of thing. I teach it."

Mikasa feels an odd tug at the idea, but she only nods. "I'll consider it."

"Take your time choosing it," he advises. "And even your classes. Pick the wrong ones, get stuck with them all semester, and you'll tank. Trust me, it's worse than spending a few days figuring out what suits you."

Mikasa nods. "I'll attend a few before deciding," she replies quietly.

Levi watches her for a moment longer before turning back to the file, flipping through the final pages. "Good," he says.

As he shuts the file, the room feels darker. The light from the window is dimmer and Mikasa realizes that it's about to rain. She needs to get back to her room.

"Most counsellors would tell you that they are here for you if you ever need to talk," Levi says, his eyes narrowing at her. "But I'm not most counselors. I will not sit through your petty problems. Do not come to me unless it's a matter of life or death or if you're failing so bad that expulsion is a concern. Are we clear?"

Mikasa blinks.

"That being said," he continues. "Don't let your guard down here. This is a personal piece of advice. Try not to get into any drama that may affect your performance. Keep your grades up and your head down."

Mikasa nods slowly, taking in the words. Levi is right. She came here to start over, and she won't let anything get in the way of that.

He stares at her for a moment before raising a brow. "Need anything else?"

"Uh...no?"

"Okay, then you can leave," he says, waving a hand in the air.

Mikasa rises. "Thank you," she murmurs.

She turns and she heads toward the door. Once she's out, she takes a deep breath. The air in the hallway is still and cold, yet it feels lighter than the space she just left behind. A Cousin? Well, Levi is intense, there's no denying that, but his problems—whatever they are—clearly have nothing to do with her.

Mikasa walks down the hallway. As she approaches the end, her footsteps halt abruptly when she hears a familiar voice nearby. Hange.

Their voice is muffled through a door, but she can make out the words, Hange is speaking with someone. "I'm sorry kid, but there's a rule. No partner switching."

The second voice that follows sends a chill down Mikasa's spine, deep and smooth, unmistakable. Eren Yeager. She's only heard it twice, yet it's lodged itself in her mind.

"I had an accident in the lab because she was being clumsy," He says, frustration barely masked in his tone. "Isn't that reason enough to honor my request?"

Mikasa's fists clench at her sides and her heart pounds hard against her ribs. Clumsy? 

"No," Hange's voice is almost amused. "You'll just have to be careful next time. If I change partners for you, I'll have to do it for everyone, and that's way too much typing. You know how much I hate typing, Eren."

"Hange—"

"Look, I've got an online meditation class starting soon, and this is the only time I can fit it in. So, you need to leave," Hange interrupts and Mikasa imagines them waving Eren away, just like Levi did.

Her pulse races as she hears the long, drawn-out sigh from the other side of the door. She doesn't move. Then, the door creaks open, and suddenly, she's face to face with him—Eren Yeager. His eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, but he recovers quickly. His expression smoothens into a cold, unreadable stare.  He's waiting, watching her, but for what? An apology? A confrontation?

Mikasa's body stiffens. Eren's presence is oppressive in a way she hadn't expected. She frowns, her fingers curling tighter into her palms, nails digging into her skin. He was trying to switch partners. He didn't even give her a chance, as if the accident wasn't just that—an accident. If it hadn't been clear before, it's clear as day now.

Eren Yeager can't stand her, and now, she's not sure if she can stand him either.

Chapter Text

The event being hosted by Rod Reiss is announced a few days later, a grand, formal ball that will be hosted in the Reiss mansion. The theme for the ball is "Masquerade Under the Moonlight," which Eren thinks is perfect. A mask is just what he needs to hide behind.

Excitement is in the air as the entire school prepares for the event. In the cafeteria, Eren picks up bits of conversation here and there from people planning their outfits and discussing who they'll ask to be their dates. The clatter of trays and silverware fills the room, and the noise is so loud. But his attention manages to lock on one person's voice.

Sasha.

"I hope they have roast beef at the dance," she says, nearly bouncing in her seat. "And mashed potatoes! Oh, and chocolate cake! The Reiss family is rich, Mikasa, but I hope they just don't serve rich people food, you know prawns and caviar and stuff like that. I mean I'd love it regardless but I'd also really like a big juicy roast beef...with a little bit of gravy—"

Her voice carries across the space. She's oblivious to how loud she's being and Eren can't help but chuckle under his breath. Sasha is the same in every universe. Funny, quirky and hungry. It surprised him how much be missed her

"Well, I don't think I'll go. I don't even have a dress," Mikasa mutters, her tone low but still clear enough for Eren to catch. She sounds... softer. There's a fragility to her that wasn't there before. A knot tightens in his chest and he grips his cup of smoothie, staring down at it.

Softer. Mikasa has always been strong, unshakeable. But here, in this place, in this reality—she's different. He's noticed it in the way she speaks, the way her shoulders curve inward ever so slightly. She hasn't faced her parents' death in the same way she did before. Because he wasn't there. He should've been there.

Guilt slithers through him.  The past they shared, the horrors they endured together—they shaped her into the fierce, resilient person she was. But here, without him, without the same nightmare pressing down on them both, she seems smaller. Eren bites the inside of his cheek, his jaw tightening.

He should have prevented it. He did prevent it. So why did it happen again?

"Don't worry about that!" Sasha practically shouts, waving her hand. "We'll find you something. You just focus on the food."

Armin is seated across from him, flipping through a book. He's quiet, thank God, giving Eren the space to let his thoughts swirl. He can't shake it, that the death of Mikasa's parents means something deeper, that something is horribly, terribly wrong.

Before he even realizes what he's doing, he stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor with a screech that draws Armin's attention. "Where are you going?" Armin asks, his brow furrowing.

"I'm going to see my dad," Eren says. He grabs his bag, his fingers tightening around the strap.

Armin blinks. "Eren, are you serious—?"

But Eren doesn't let him finish. "Don't wait for me after the bell," he mutters. "I'll see you in class."

He barely hears Armin's response as he walks out of the cafeteria.

Eren sits stiffly in his father's office, his eyes drifting to the family portrait displayed on the desk. Grisha stands tall in the picture, his hair dark and graying at the temples, his eyes framed by square glasses. His mother, Carla, stands beside him. Her auburn hair is neatly pulled back and her smile is warm. And then there's Eren, younger, carefree, standing between them, a picture of the perfect family.

But Eren knows better. He drums his fingers against the polished wood of the desk. That image of family perfection is fragile. It's only a matter of time before it shatters, before the truth is revealed and before Carla is hurt. It's one of the things he's powerless to stop right now.

The door creaks open behind him. Eren hears his father's voice before he stands and turns to see him. "Eren." Grisha is wearing a doctor's coat, the stethoscope dangling around his neck. He slips off his gloves and grins, walking toward his son with open arms.

Eren is stiff as stone, as his father pulls him into a hug. He lets out a breath when Grisha releases him. The moment feels off. He watches as his father circles around the desk and settles into the chair.

"I've been trying to get in touch with you for a while now," Grisha says, his smile tempered by something more serious, maybe even disappointment. "You never pick up."

Eren shrugs. "School's been keeping me busy."

Grisha nods with a sad smile, and the silence returns. Eren glances around the room—at the bookshelves filled with medical journals, the certificates hanging on the wall. "So," he finally breaks the silence. "I met Mikasa Ackerman."

Grisha's expression shifts slightly. "Oh, yes." He leans back in his chair, clasping his hands together. "I tried calling you and sent a few messages about her, but..." He trails off.

Eren mentally sighs. Grisha's texts were easy to avoid. And Carla—well, she's hardly ever online. The past few months had been consumed by his focus on ensuring this reality turned out better than the others, on investigating the events of the previous reality. This left little room for home or for them. He realizes he's been neglecting them. He hasn't even seen Carla in months. He swallows, feeling the guilt gnaw at him.

He shouldn't be here, but he is and he's doing a bad job at being her son.

"Eren, are you okay?" Grisha asks.

"Yes." Eren shakes the thoughts away. 

Grisha looks away. "I'm guessing you feel bad for Mikasa," he says, exhaling slowly. "It was tragic. I was the one who found her there. I went over to check on her father because he hadn't been feeling well and, and when I arrived... Mikasa was holding a knife, standing in front of the bodies. It was..."

Eren feels a cold knot form in his stomach. He can picture it too vividly—Mikasa, traumatized, lost, and standing in the bloodstained ruin of her childhood. 

"She refuses to talk to anyone about it. I recommended therapy, but she won't go," Grisha says. "Eren, be nice to her okay? Don't make her life here harder than it has to be."

Eren presses his lips together. He wants to ask more questions but the sound of the bell ringing outside makes him pause. His father sighs.

"Go," Grisha says. "We can talk another time."

Eren nods, turning on his heel and leaving the office. As he heads back to the school building, his heart pounds in his chest. He thought he'd saved her from that fate, but it was clearly not enough.

Are some things impossible to change? And if yes, what did that mean for them, now that she was here, now that they had met?

It won't just be enough to make sure Mikasa doesn't fall in love with him. He has to keep her away from him. He has to keep her safe.

Marble floors, high, arched ceilings and walls draped in deep crimson and gold. A chandelier hangs over the ballroom. Food, crystal goblets and platters of fruits and desserts lay on the tables. Gilded mirrors reflect the spectacle of students filtering in, masks covering their faces.

It's the day of the masquerade.

Eren stands at the edge of the crowd. Music plays as the other students move through the room. Some dance, while others cluster together. His gaze sweeps across the room, landing on Rod Reiss, the host of the evening, who stands in a corner engaged in conversation with Erwin and a few members of the school board.

Eren catches Erwin's eye beneath his mask and his principal nods once before looking away. He does the same and faces Armin who's walking up to him, holding up two glasses of wine that threaten to spill all over his white shirt.

Armin stops in front of Eren and blows out a huge breath. His mask is white and silver and it covers the top half of his face, but his smile is bright.

"Here you go," he says.

Eren reaches out to grab a glass, lifting it to his lips. A frown crosses his face as the bubbly, sweet liquid tickles his throat."What's this?" he mutters. "It tastes like regular juice."

"That's because it is non-alcoholic wine," Armin says, adjusting his mask. "You can't expect them to serve alcohol to kids, Eren."

"We're not kids anymore, though," Eren retorts, glancing back toward Erwin, who is now making his way away from Rod Reiss, moving through the crowd. "I'll be back," he mutters.

Eren steps into the crowd, his body brushing against a girl dressed in a blue dress and a silver mask, and he mutters a quick apology. She blinks, her eyes widening as her cheeks turn pink. He moves past her quickly.

He continues, and finally reaches buffet table at the back of the hall. It makes him think of Sasha who makes him think of Mikasa. He hasn't seen her all evening? Did she come?

Erwin is standing by the table, picking up bits of food. "Rod Reiss is going to give his opening speech soon. It'll be the perfect time for you to make your move," he says without looking up.

Eren raises an eyebrow. "What am I looking for?"

Erwin leans closer. "The only locked door in the house—his office," he says as he pats Eren's side and slips the key into his pocket.

"And how long is this speech?" Eren asks.

Erwin grabs a grape and pops it into his mouth. "It's a very short speech," he says, chewing.

The murmurs in the room grow louder and the orchestra's music shifts into a more formal tune. Eren feels a nudge from Erwin beside him. "Now," Erwin whispers. "Go."

Eren sets the champagne glass on a passing tray, then adjusts the mask over his face. His heart beats faster as the crowd begins to move toward the front of the room, all turning to face the stage where Rod Reiss stands. Eren lingers at the back, his eyes darting toward the entrance as a new group of students filters in. He scans their faces quickly, wondering if Mikasa among them. His heart tugs as his gaze settles on a girl with black hair. But a second later, he realizes it's not her.

"Welcome everyone!" Rod Reiss calls from the stage, drawing Eren's attention.

Shit, the speech is staring. He glances around, making sure no one is looking before he slips away from the crowd. He moves toward the grand staircase at the side of the hall. The sounds of the orchestra and Ross Reiss's voice fade behind him as he begins to climb. At the top of the stairs, Eren pauses, glancing around. No guards, no staff. The hallway ahead of him is long and quiet, its high ceilings shadowed in the light cast by the sconces lining the walls. Each door he passes looks the same and he's careful not to make a sound as he tries the handles—open. One after the other.

The farther he goes, the more frustrated he gets. Rod's speech won't last long and he still hasn't found the door. He stops in the middle of the hallway, slipping his hand into his pocket and pulling out the key Erwin gave him. His fingers trace the symbol engraved into the cold metal—a small, circular design.

Eren glances up, and his eyes land on a door farther down the hall. The same symbol, carved into the wood. His heart jumps—bingo.

He steps forward quickly, glancing over his shoulder before fitting the key into the lock. The door creaks as it opens, revealing the interior of Rod Reiss' office. Eren slips inside, closing the door quietly behind him.

Pushed up against the walls are bookshelves lined with leather-bound volumes that look untouched. The air smells faintly of old paper and polish. Heavy, blood-red drapes hang over the windows. The only source is light is a small lamp on a desk at the center.

Eren's eyes sweep over the desk—papers neatly stacked, ink bottles, and a leather-bound ledger, but nothing immediately out of the ordinary. He moves cautiously, his fingers brushing over the edger. He opens it, eyes quickly scanning the contents. Names, dates, transactions—his heart skips a beat. He needs more time.

He begins to open drawer after drawer. In every other reality, the Reiss family had always maintained control of the Founding Titan, a power so immense it could shape the world, rewrite memories, bend time itself. And even in the realities where they didn't have it, they eventually made sure it was theirs.

But in this world, titans don't exist. Still, something happened in the previous reality. The moment before he died, when Rod Reiss asked a woman to kill him, she said something. He was blindfolded so he didn't see her face but he remembers her voice. It was trembling, hesitant, almost childlike.

"I'm sorry, Eren. In the next one, please come save me. Save all of us."

And that's how he knew. The Reiss family knew what he was doing. They knew that Eren was moving through time and realities.

Was that why he kept failing? Just how much do they know? Was it enough to just end the reign of the titans?

He needs to know.

He moves to the bookshelves next, running his fingers along the spines of old, musty tomes. There has to be something in this room. As he scans the titles, looking for anything unusual, something catches his eye—a faint glint, from the corner of the room.

Eren turns his head, but before he can react, the cold press of a blade meets the skin of his neck. He stiffens, his heart slamming in his chest, as a voice—low, familiar, and threatening, fills the room.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in here?"

He's been caught.

Chapter Text

"Mikasa," Sasha says. "The party’s in there, and so is the food. What are we doing out here?"

The two girls are standing outside the Reiss mansion. Mikasa takes a deep breath, her hands gripping the soft material of her gown. It's a deep red, almost scarlet, the color of a rose. The satin skirt falls softly against her legs, the slit cutting up the side revealing a flash of pale skin. It's paired with matching gloves.

She fidgets with the hem of a glove. “I’m…nervous,” she admits quietly.

Sasha blinks at her. “Nervous? Why would you ever be nervous? You look so pretty tonight.”

And she's right. The dress fits perfectly on Mikasa's slender frame. Her hair, loose around her shoulders, makes her feel lighter. She and Sasha had ordered masks online, which arrived just in time. Her own is rose red and simple, perched slightly crooked on her face, but it's enough.

Sasha grabs her arm and grins. “Besides, no one’s gonna recognize you in that mask. You’ll be fine. Just relax, have fun. Don’t overthink it.”

Mikasa lets out a soft breath, nodding. Together, they step inside the ballroom.

As soon as they cross the threshold, Mikasa’s breath hitches. The room before them is like something out of a dream—golden light spills from chandeliers that hang from the high ceiling. The students, all in elegant in their outfits and masks, move through the space, talking, laughing, dancing. The grand scale of it all overwhelms her for a moment.

Sasha, however, has her priorities set. She gasps loudly, her eyes lighting up. “The buffet!” she exclaims, pointing at the extravagant spread of food laid out across the room. She lets go of Mikasa’s arm and heads straight for the tables.

Mikasa watches her go, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and starts to follow—until she bumps into someone.

Her mask slips slightly as she stumbles, and she quickly adjusts it, looking up to apologize. "I’m so sor—"

The man she collided with stares down at her. He’s about the same height as her, with a round. chubby face and short hair. Behind his mask, there's a strange, dark gleam in his eyes.

"No worries, it was my mistake," he says with an undertone that makes her uneasy.

Mikasa straightens, trying to pull herself together. “I'm sorry still,” she mutters, still fiddling with her mask.

The man’s smile is small, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He holds out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss...”

Just as she's about to take his hand, a voice calls out. “Mr. Reiss.”

Mikasa’s head whips around at the sound. She recognizes that voice—it’s the principal’s.

Even with his mask, Erwin’s presence is the same—commanding yet composed. Dressed in all white, his suit gleams under the light, and his blonde hair is combed back neatly. His mask, also pure white, blends seamlessly into his skin, making him look more like a figure out of an ancient portrait than a principal at a school function.

He stops next to Mikasa and places a firm hand on the stranger's shoulder. "Mr. Reiss," he says, "a few members of the board are asking for you."

His grip tightens ever so slightly, and the man’s arm lowers in response.

Mikasa glances between them for a moment. There’s something in Erwin’s eyes, a look she doesn’t miss. Go

Without hesitation, she slips away and drifts into the crowd. Mr. Reiss? Isn't that their host?

As she reaches the buffet, she smiles. Connie and Sasha are enthusiastically piling their plates with food, while Jean scrolls through his phone. Connie notices her first. “Hey, Mikasa!” he calls out.

Jean’s head turns, and for a moment, his eyes widen at the sight of her. Sasha nudges him. “Stop drooling, Jean.”

Mikasa chuckles softly, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck. She turns her attention to the feast in front of them. The table is stacked high with desserts—chocolate cake, tarts, eclairs, and an array of different cookies, each topped with frosting.

There are platters of roasted vegetables, fruits and nuts, and rows and rows of drinks—wine, juice, punch. Jean hands her a glass of something cold.

“You look really nice tonight, Mikasa,” he says, he eyes softening.

She offers him a small smile, accepting the drink. “Thanks.” She takes a sip, letting the sweetness of the punch settle on her tongue, her eyes wandering around the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Armin at the end of the table, his mask hanging from his neck, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as he examines the cookie options in front of him.

“Oh, there’s Armin,” she notes aloud, and almost instinctively, her gaze begins to search the room for someone else. Eren. She looks for him even when she doesn’t want to. After their encounter in the hallway a few days ago, she has tried not to think about him, not to dwell on his coldness toward her, not to let her mind wander to what she saw when she touched him. Mikasa wonders if it was an hallucination.

But it had felt real. The blood, the smoke, the screams. A shudder runs through her.

“Are you looking for Yeager?” Jean asks, pulling her out of her thoughts. Before she can respond, he adds, “He’s gotta be around here somewhere. Armin wouldn’t stray too far from him.”

Mikasa studies him for a moment. “You don’t like Eren, do you?”

Jean’s expression hardens. “It’s not about liking him or not,” he replies, taking a long sip of his drink. “I just don’t like people who act like they’re too good for everyone else.”

Sasha peeks over with a mischievous grin. “Is Jean boring you with tales of his failed friendship attempt with Eren Yeager?” she asks in a teasing tone.

Connie bursts into laughter, almost choking on a piece of cake.

Mikasa blinks at Jean, but he avoids her gaze, a faint flush on his cheeks. “I would never want to be friends with that guy,” he says defensively and his voice rises just a little too high. “All he does is brood and frown like his problems are bigger than everyone else’s.”

Mikasa blinks. Eren does brood, she realizes. His endless frowning, his distant, troubled expressions—they are a constant. But she’s seen him smile before. Not many times, but she remembers one moment clearly. It was with Armin.

She looks over at the blonde, who is still engrossed in his cookie selection. Then she makes her way over to him. He looks up as she approaches, his brows drawing together in confusion.

"Hi," she says, giving him a small wave.

Armin’s eyes widen. "Oh, Mikasa," he breathes. "Hi! You look… beautiful tonight."

A small smile forms on her lips. "Thank you," she replies, her cheeks warming. "You look great too. Why aren't you wearing your mask?"

"I can't see too well through it," he says.

She nods and her gaze flits around the room again, searching for him again. Eren. Did he not show up at all?

"Are you looking for Eren?" Armin asks, smiling sheepishly.

Mikasa's heart skips slightly. "No, why would I?" she blurts out, too quickly. Too defensive.

Armin’s sheepish smile deepens, and he turns back to the buffet table. "He was here earlier," he says. "But he disappeared. Maybe he’s in the bathroom. I heard there’s a long line."

Mikasa nods. She shouldn't care. Eren clearly doesn't want anything to do with her, and frankly, the feeling is mutual.

"I’m sorry about him," Armin says softly, as if he can read her mind. "I know Eren can be… difficult, but he’s really cool once you get to know him."

Mikasa scoffs lightly. Cool? Eren Yeager is anything but cool. He's infuriating, annoying and a jerk. Armin, for all his kindness, is only blinded by that beautiful, rare smile Eren flashes to him. But instead of saying that, she changes the subject. "So, which cookie are you going with?"

Armin’s face brightens as he points at the cookies on the table. "I can’t decide," he admits with a slight laugh. "The chocolate-hazelnut or the cinnamon-ginger."

Mikasa raises a brow. "Let’s try them both," she suggests, grabbing one of each and handing the chocolate-hazelnut to Armin.

They both take a bite, chewing in silence before swapping. Mikasa smiles. The dark chocolate melts on her tongue with a hint of roasted hazelnut, while the sharp spice of cinnamon tingles her senses from the other cookie. They glance at each other and, nod.

"Definitely the chocolate-hazelnut," they say in unison.

Armin laughs. His blue eyes crinkle, and Mikasa feels a little lighter, her nerves fading away. Then, Sasha’s voice calls out from behind them.

"Mikasa!" 

Mikasa glances back toward her friend, and Armin offers her a smile. "Go on," he says, waving her off. "We’ll talk later."

"Okay, enjoy the rest of the party." Mikasa waves, walking away.

Mikasa walks over to the table where Sasha, Jean, and Connie are settling in. Jean hands her a plate he filled up for her, and she murmurs her thanks. They sit and just as Mikasa picks up a fork, a familiar song filters through the air.

Sasha’s eyes widen as she mumbles through a mouthful of food, “I love this song,” wiping her hands haphazardly on a napkin before grabbing Connie by the arm. "Come on, Connie!" she insists, dragging him toward the dance floor.

Mikasa and Jean exchange amused glances, chuckling as they watch Sasha pull a reluctant Connie through the swirling mass of dancers. The floor seems to glimmer, and Mikasa can’t help but marvel at how carefree Sasha looks, spinning around, her laughter rising above the music.

Jean turns to Mikasa. "Do you want to dance?"

She blinks. "I don’t dance," she says quickly.

He grins. "I’ll teach you. It’s easy, I promise."

He stands and extends his arm toward her. Mikasa stares at him for a moment. There's something about Jean’s persistence, his easy smile, that makes her want to try, even if only for a moment.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she takes his hand.

He leads her toward the dance floor, moving between groups of people. The music seems louder now, pulsing through the room as they reach the center. Jean turns to her, smiling. "Just follow my lead."

Mikasa’s body tenses at first, her feet awkwardly shuffling as she tries to mimic his movements. Jean keeps his hand on her waist, his steps slow as he guides her through the dance.

"Relax," he murmurs, leaning in close to her ear. "You’re doing great."

But Mikasa doesn’t feel great. She feels stiff, out of place. Jean is patient. His grip never falters and bit by bit, she finds herself easing into the rhythm.

A minute passes, then another, and something shifts. Her steps become lighter, more graceful. She follows Jean’s lead without thinking, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Mikasa lets herself be present. She smiles as she moves.

She's having fun.

Jean twirls her gently, and to her surprise, she laughs—an actual laugh, soft and brief, but real. She catches Jean’s grin and feels herself smiling back. Then, just as the music comes to an end, he twirls her around. His arm slips around her waist, bringing her close, and she can feel his heart beating, his breath against her cheek.

Mikasa glances around, scanning the space for Sasha and Connie, but Jean squeezes her hand gently, drawing her attention back to him. “I want to show you something,” he says. "Just you."

She hesitates for a moment, then nods, curiosity getting the better of her. Jean grins and guides her toward the far end of the ballroom, moving through the clusters of people. They step out into a hallway where the noise of the party grows fainter with every step. Their footsteps echo ias they make their way toward the estate’s backyard.

The Reiss Estate is massive, with endless hallways and towering walls. Mikasa’s breath catches as they pass by dark windows that seem to reflect the night itself. Jean gives her hand another squeeze. "Come on," he urges, leading her out through a side door and into the cool night air.

Outside, the estate feels even more vast. The moon hangs high above them, its light spreading over the sprawling gardens. Jean leads her through a maze of tall bushes. The path is narrow, winding, but he navigates it easily, pulling her gently along until they reach a hidden spot.

Mikasa gasps softly when they walk into into a secluded garden. It's like something out of a dream. A small fountain sits in the center, surrounded by blooming flowers of every color. Ivy climbs the stone walls that enclose the space, and lanterns hang from twisted branches. The scent of fresh flowers fills the air, and for a moment, Mikasa forgets where she is.

She kneels down, running her fingers over the petals of a deep red rose. Everything here feels so alive. She looks up at Jean.

"Thank you for showing me this, Jean," she whispers, standing slowly. "It's beautiful."

“It’s not as beautiful as you are tonight," he responds with a smile.

Mikasa’s heart stumbles in her chest as Jean steps closer. He takes her hand, lifting it to his lips, pressing a kiss against the back of her palm. Then he reaches up, cupping her cheek. Her eyes widen, and for a brief second, she wonders—Is he going to kiss me?

Her breath hitches, and she steps back quickly. “I’m... sorry,” she stammers, shaking her head. "I don’t think..."

Jean’s expression falters, and he steps back as well, his smile fading into something apologetic. “No, no, it’s my mistake,” he says in a voice that's almost embarrassed. “I thought that maybe...”

Mikasa’s words catch in her throat, and she doesn’t know how to respond. Things suddenly feel awkward. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, a voice cuts through the silence.

“What are you two doing out here?”

They both turn, startled. A shadow moves in the garden’s entrance, and Mikasa’s heart skips a beat. Two men step into the light from the garden lanterns, their faces shadowed by the darkness. Mikasa’s blood turns cold. She takes a step back, eyes darting to Jean, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

One of the strangers, a tall and lanky man with a sly grin, chuckles darkly. "Kids shouldn’t be out here alone in the dark," he says. "Didn’t your mama ever teach you that?"

A crippling sense of terror washes over Mikasa, like ice in her veins. She hasn’t felt this kind of fear since that night—the night her parents died. Something tells her to flee, something warns her, but her feet are rooted to the ground, her legs too heavy.

Jean steps forward. "We’re students from Survey Academy. We're here for the masquerade. Are you guards?"

The men exchange glances, their smiles widening. The shorter one laughs under his breath. "Do we look like guards?"

Mikasa’s chest tightens. She knows it now—the fear is real. These men are dangerous.

The taller man gives a lazy shrug before his expression hardens. "Get the girl," he orders coldly.

In a blur, he lunges toward them, his fist connecting with Jean’s face before he can react. Jean staggers back with a grunt. Mikasa screams. "Jean!"

Without thinking, she tries to run to him, but the other man grabs her from behind. Rough hands clamp around her arms, yanking her back, hard. She thrashes wildly, her legs kicking out, heels scraping the dirt.

"Let go of me!" she screams, trying to wrench free from the grip. She can see Jean struggling too, trying to fight the taller man off, but he's brutal. He rains down blows on Jean, fists slamming into his stomach, his ribs, his face. Jean groans, collapsing to his knees, his breathing ragged.

Tears burn Mikasa's eyes, blurring her vision. Her voice trembles. "Jean!" she cries.

Jean lifts his head, meeting her gaze. His lip is split, and there's a gash above his brow, a thin trickle of blood trailing down his cheek. Mikasa fights against the arms that hold her, twisting, kicking, doing anything to break free, but the man restraining her is stronger. He jerks her back violently and begins to pull her away.

Panic clutches her heart, and fear squeezes her lungs. She's going to die. Just like her parents.

The man pulling her away clamps a hand over her mouth. She bites down hard, earning a hiss of pain, but it’s not enough. With a swift, brutal strike to the back of her neck, everything goes black.

Chapter Text

The cold edge of the knife is still at his neck, pressed against his throat.

"I'm going to ask you again," the voice hisses, and a shiver runs down Eren's spine. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

It's a girl.

His eyes narrow and his jaw tightens. He knows that voice. He's heard it before. He twists sharply, aiming to disarm her, but she’s fast—faster than he expected. She shifts, dodging his strike, her knife slicing the air between them. It's dark but Eren doesn’t need light to fight. He’s fought in worse conditions, against worse opponents—stronger, more skilled, even some in dresses, like her.

The girl staggers back and he assesses her quickly before she moves toward him. She tries to sweep his leg, but he jumps out of the way. Eren swings, aiming for her head, but she's quick. She blocks his blow and tries to counter, her knife grazing his arm. He hisses. She's good.

His eyes have adjusted to the dark, and he can make out her silhouette. She’s coming at him head-on, reckless but fierce. Each of her movements is calculated for survival—raw, instinctual. Her attacks are aggressive, too forward, too predictable. She’s not thinking, just lunging.

Her knife slices toward his side, but he dodges, barely missing the sharp edge. He kicks her hard, sending her crashing into the bookshelf behind her. Books scatter and crash onto the floor as she tumbles to the ground. She grunts in pain and seconds later, she scrambles to her feet, knife raised.

She isn’t calm. She’s too desperate.

As her knife swings down again, Eren grabs her wrist, twisting it just enough to throw her off balance. For a moment, he’s tempted to end it—to disarm her. But something holds him back. Winning this fight won’t get him the answers he needs.

No, she needs to believe she has control.

His eyes narrow as he loosens his grip. He lets her slip free, stepping back just enough to give her the space she needs to recover. She pushes forward again and he notices how her knife catches the light for a brief second.

He lets her.

The blade grazes his skin, and he feels the cold bite of metal against his throat. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, close to his ear now. She thinks she’s won. She thinks she’s control.

Eren tilts his head just slightly. His hands relax at his sides.

"Who are you?" she asks.

Her hands tremble as she pulls off Eren’s mask. Her eyes, widen when they lock onto his face.

"Eren Yeager?"

She whispers his name in a breathless voice, and Eren blinks, his mind reeling. How could he have not recognized that voice? The realization slams into him, but before he can speak, there’s the sound of muffled voices approaching from outside the door.

The girl gasps, her fingers tightening on his collar as she hands him his mask and yanks him up. She pulls him through a narrow door hidden next to the bookshelf and they stumble into a small, cramped closet. Eren is pressed against her, so close he can feel the heat of her breath, the rapid pounding of her heart against his chest.

The knife is still in her hand, hanging at her side, but she doesn’t lift it. Not yet. The closet is suffocatingly small, and Eren can barely move without brushing against her. The door to the office creaks open, the lights come on, and he stiffens.

A voice says, "Oh, the books fell off the shelf... That must've been the noise we heard."

The second voice is quieter, almost lazy. "Well, the window's open and it is windy tonight. Feels like it's gonna rain."

There’s a soft scraping sound as if a window is being slid shut, and Eren’s eyes dart to the girl. She’s tense, her face half-hidden in shadow, the knife still held close. He studies her, watching the way she stands rigidly, fear rippling through her body.

He lifts his hand, moving slowly, reaching for her mask. The light filtering through the cracks of the door outlines the tension in her jaw, her lips drawn into a thin line. Her eyes flash, and the cold tip of the knife presses against his side.

"Don't," she whispers harshly but her voice shakes. "I’ll stab you."

Eren scoffs. She didn't just push him into the closet. She got in too. She doesn't want to be caught. "You won't," he says.

She freezes at his words and trembles. He moves his hand again. This time, she doesn’t stop him.

Eren pulls off her mask.

Her face is pale in the shadows, eyes wide. Eren grins, a slow, almost wicked smile spreading across his lips.

"Historia Reiss," he says. 

Her eyes widen, shock and anger flashing across her face. Before she can respond, the door to the office opens again, and the two men leave. As the sound of their footsteps fade away, Historia shoves Eren out of the closet. He stumbles and she quickly follows. She points the knife at him.

"How do you know my real name?" she demands.

Eren doesn’t flinch. He straightens up. "I have my ways," he says quietly.

She doesn't respond. Eren moves toward the table. His fingers lightly trace the edge of the wood then brush over the leather-bound ledger.

“I didn’t hear you come in, Historia,” he murmurs. He slips into her father’s chair with ease, leaning back, his eyes meeting hers with a tilted head. “That means you were already in here. In the office. You must have a key too..” He taps a finger against the armrest, a knowing smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “So… what were you doing in here? Why so worried about getting caught? Were you snooping around too?”

Historia’s eyes narrow, her chest rising and falling. She stands a little straighter but the knife in her hand never wavers.

“I’m the one asking questions here,” she snaps. “After all, you know I’m a Reiss. This is my home. You’re the impostor here.”

Eren watches her silently. Then he stands and starts to walk toward her, slowly. She steps back and lifts the knife higher, ready to strike. “I'm a guest, actually,” he corrects. “You, on the other hand… you’re the impostor. The illegitimate child of Rod Reiss.”

She lunges at him and the knife is aimed right for his chest. Eren catches her wrist, squeezing tightly. He disarms her as if it were nothing and the blade clatters to the floor. Before she can regain her footing, he has her pinned against the table. One hand presses her neck down from behind, the cold surface of the table beneath her. She struggles, her breaths sharp and fast, but his grip is firm.

“Just because I let it happen once,” he says, leaning in, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper near her ear, “doesn’t mean I’ll let it happen again.”

“Let me go,” she grits out.

“I will,” he replies calmly, though his grip tightens. “Once you answer my questions. What were you doing in here?”

Eren’s mind races. It was her. It had been her voice, he’s sure of it. Right before he died, in the thousandth life. Historia had been the one who killed him, under her father’s orders. But why? What did she mean when she asked him to save her? What kind of danger is she tangled in, and how did that lead her here tonight?

To him.

“I was looking for something,” She finally says.

“What?” Eren presses.

When she doesn’t respond, he releases her, stepping back. She stumbles away from him, glaring, her breath uneven. He sighs heavily.

"Historia," he says. “I don’t want to fight. I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Her eyes search his face, wary, untrusting. "Why are you here then?" she asks after a moment.

He runs a hand through his hair, glancing at the open ledger on the desk. “I was looking for something too,” he admits. "Something against your father."

He doesn’t look at her as he flips open the ledger. The pages are yellowed and worn. He pauses mid-flip and notices that a page has been ripped off, right in the middle.

"Is that what you were doing too?" he asks, not expecting an answer.

Historia says nothing, her lips pressed into a tight line. Her eyes flick to the ledger, but she’s silent. The room feels colder. “What do you have against my father?”

“Nothing… yet,” he says softly.

Not in this universe, anyway.

"My father is one of the most powerful me in the country, Eren," she says, crossing his arms. "You can't touch him."

“And you can?” Eren leans against the desk, looking up at her. “You knew there was a risk coming in here, that’s why you were worried about getting caught. You were desperate to find something—something in this ledger, I’m guessing. Where is it? What was in that page you ripped off.”

She flinches, ever so slightly, but doesn’t break eye contact. “That isn’t your concern.”

“You're right.” Eren’s eyes narrow. He steps closer, his voice lowering. “But you don’t seem like someone who’s entirely on your father's side. So why are you pretending?”

Historia doesn’t answer right away. The light from the lamp allows Eren to see the unreadable expression on her face. When she finally speaks, her voice is tight. “Because it's the only thing I can do.”

Save me.

Eren studies her. “I can help you, you know. We can be partners,” he says simply. “But I want the truth. What can you tell me about your father's operations?”

In the thousandth life, Historia Reiss killed him and begged him to save her. She knows about the ability to travel through alternate realities. Eren is certain of that. Maybe she already went through it? Maybe this Historia is the same one who killed him?

He has to get her to trust him. Even a little bit.

She takes a step back, her arms dropping to her sides. There’s a bitterness in her laugh. “You want to be my partner? What can you do?” she asks. “My father never anything of importance anyway. I’m not exactly part of his grand designs.”

Eren watches her carefully. “But you still came in here, risking everything. For what?”

“Because I want him gone.”

The admission hangs between them. Eren’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt her.

“He’s a monster,” she continues, her voice low and full of venom. “You don’t know half of it. What he’s done… what he’s planning. If I can't stop him, what makes you think you can?” 

Eren takes this in, his mind racing. It’s everything he suspected, but hearing her say it still feels like a revelation. He stands and closes the distance between them.. “We’re after the same thing.”

Historia’s gaze snaps to him. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with. My father has more power than you realize. If you, a student at the academy go after him, he’ll crush you.”

Eren's lips twist into a humorless smile. “He can try. But I’m not interested in just taking him down. I need more than that.”

Her brows furrow. “What more could you possibly want?”

He doesn't respond. He glances around the office. There's nothing in here, nothing that can help him. His eyes settle back on Historia. He needs to know what she took out of that ledger. "Will you accept my help or not?" he asks.

She blinks at him and takes a deep breath. She's considering it.

Good. Historia was very involved in her father's plan in the thousandth life. She may not be in this reality...yet, but she may be his only way of getting close to Rod Reiss. He crosses his arms and leans against the edge of the desk. "I'll return the favor. If you become my partner, I'll give you whatever you want in return," he asks.

"W-what?"

"What do you want in return for helping me?"

Everyone wants something in return. Eren has learned that in 1000 lifetimes.

Historia fiddles with her fingers, her gaze falling to the floor. Her expression softens just enough to show her true age. "There is...something. But it's hard to explain."

Eren quirks an eyebrow. "Try me."

She meets his gaze again, her voice strained. "I want you to be my boyfriend."

His arms drop and he blinks. Then he laughs. The sound rings out, loud, surprising both of them. "You're crazy," he finally says, still grinning.

Historia doesn’t so much as smile, and somehow that makes his own grin fall.

"You want my help?" she pushes, stepping closer. "You're going to have to date me."

"No."

With that, Eren slides his mask back on and makes his way to the door. He's desperate to know what Rod Reiss' plans and what the man has to do with his ability, but not that desperate. He and Mikasa have no chance of being together without it ending badly, but that doesn't mean he's going to be with some other girl. He loves her.

"You said you needed my help!" Historia calls after him as he opens the door.

His feet still. "I do but I'll just have find some other way to get what I want," he answers coolly and disappears into the hallway.

Downstairs, Eren slides into the seat beside Armin, his eyes scanning the room before landing on the platter of cookies in front of his friend. A slight smirk plays at his lips. "All this food at the buffet, and you settled for cookies?"

Armin shrugs, popping another cookie into his mouth. “They're very good cookies," he mutters with his palm over his lips. He takes one from the platter and holds it out to Eren, who accepts it without much thought, biting into the soft center.

“Hazelnut?” Eren mutters, chewing slowly. “Not bad.”

Armin nods with a smile. “Mikasa thought so too.”

At her name, Eren freezes. His fingers still on the cookie and he swallows. He takes another bite, slower this time, masking the sudden rush of tension running through his veins. He glances around the grand hall, searching. 

She’s here.

Warmth blossoms in his chest. They haven't spoken since he saw her outside Hange's office, eavesdropping on their conversation. He knows she must have heard something that upset her and he wants to apologize...badly. But if that will make her stay away from him, she's better off being angry.

What does she look like tonight though?

In the original reality, Mikasa in a dress was a rarity, something to cherish, like a glimpse of sunlight through storm clouds. But in the countless lifetimes that followed, seeing her in those dresses had become Eren's favorite sight. It was a beauty that always caught him off guard, no matter how many times he witnessed it. He wants to see her now, but where is she?

Armin's voice breaks through his thoughts. “She was with Sasha, Connie, and Jean earlier.”

Eren’s jaw tightens. His eyes dart toward Armin, who’s watching him with that calm, knowing look he often wears. "Why are you telling me that?"

"You’re looking for her, aren’t you?"

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he bites into the cookie again, the sweetness now bitter on his tongue. He clenches his jaw, eyes narrowing as he glances across the room. Jean. Always hovering, always close. He’s so tired of that guy.

The crowd begins to hush as Rod Reiss steps up onto the podium. Eren’s gaze shifts to where Erwin stands next to the platform, his face a cool, impassive mask. Their gazes meet and Eren nods at him. Once. Before he goes back to looking around for Mikasa.

The light dims and Rod's voice breaks through the soft murmur of the crowd. “There’s a reason I’ve gathered all of you here tonight, students and esteemed guests alike,” he begins, pausing to survey the room. “I wanted to be the one to announce this.”

Eren frowns. His gaze follows Rod as he turns, extending his hand toward someone stepping forward. Eren’s eyes widen when he sees her.

Historia.

She’s in the same dress from earlier, but she's cleaned up. Her blonde hair is swept up and pinned, and her mask sits lightly across the upper half of her face. She smiles demurely as she approaches her father, her delicate fingers barely touching his arm as she takes her place beside him.

Gasps ring out through the room. Rod Reiss looks at the crowd with a smile. “A few years ago,” he say, his voice booming through the room, “my daughter joined Survey Academy. She became your classmate, your friend, perhaps even more.”

Eren's brow furrows deeper. Rod continues. “But today, I am re-introducing her to you all. Not as a student, not as Krista Lenz—” he pauses “—but as my daughter, Historia Reiss, of House Reiss.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence, then a wave of noise rolls through the room. Gasps, murmurs, and the rapid clicking of cameras blend together as the crowd shifts restlessly. Eren watches Historia remove her mask, her blue eyes scanning the crowd. They land on him. For a brief second, their gazes lock. He feels something stir at the pit of his stomach. Beside him, Armin leans forward, his eyes wide.

“Wow... her name is Historia? Not Krista?”

Eren barely hears him. His mind races, spinning with questions. What the hell is going on? Historia was an illegitimate child, someone Rod Reiss had hidden away for years. He created a fake identity for her. He would never claim her publicly—not unless he had no choice. Not unless she was a piece in whatever sick game he was playing. The crowd is still buzzing, reacting to the revelation. This isn’t just some announcement. This is something bigger.

Just then, a scream slices through the air.

Eren’s head snaps toward the back of the room, his body tensing as the crowd parts, startled and confused. The murmuring dies down to a breathless hush as everyone turns to look. Eren sighs in frustration, his teeth gritting.

What now?

A figure stumbles into view—barely standing, his body battered and bruised, his shirt torn and stained with blood and dirt. His hair sticks to his forehead in wet strands, his face a mess of cuts and bruises. He’s panting, his breath ragged as if he’s been running for his life.

“Is that Jean?” Armin whispers.

Eren stands. Jean's voice cracks, eyes wild with panic. "Help! It's Mikasa," he screams and Eren's blood runs cold.

"Someone took Mikasa!"

Chapter Text

Sasha and Connie rush toward Jean, their faces pale with worry. Eren, however, is already moving before his mind can catch up with his body. He pushes his way through the crowd, shoving people out of his path.

"Eren!" Armin shouts behind him, but Eren doesn't look back.

His hands grip Jean's collar, yanking him up until their faces are mere inches apart. “What the hell do you mean someone took Mikasa?” he asks in a low, dangerous voice.

Jean winces, his breath hitching as he tries to stand straight. Connie is by his side, trying to pry Eren’s hands off. “Hey, let him go!”

But Eren's grip tightens as he shouts again, his voice booming through the ballroom. “Where is she?!”

The room is deathly silent now, all eyes on him. The grandeur of the evening—Rod’s announcement, the spectacle—fades into the background. His anger is laid bare in front of possibly the entire school. His emotions have been exposed, his care for Mikasa, unmistakable. But none of that matters right now. Not when she’s missing.

“Eren, enough,” Erwin's voice cuts through the air.

Eren looks at the Principal, who approaches them with a stern expression. Erwin raises a brow at him and Eren sighs. He shoves Jean into Connie's arms, his chest heaving. Armin appears at his side, his hand resting lightly on Eren’s shoulder. There's concern etched on his face.

"Eren," Armin whispers, confused, clearly trying to make sense of what just happened. The whole room is watching now, murmurs buzzing in the air, and Eren knows he's going to have to deal with this somehow.

He clenches his fists, ignoring the stares, forcing himself to think. Mikasa isn’t here. She’s not anywhere in this ballroom. Panic gnaws at him, his mind racing through a thousand worst-case scenarios. Levi’s voice pulls him back.

“Someone get some water,” Levi orders, already assessing Jean's injuries. Erwin steps forward, steadying Jean before asking, “What happened?”

Jean struggles to his feet. He grimaces, his face contorted in pain. There's a dark bruise forming under his eye and blood trickles from his nose, smearing his lips and chin and Eren wants to punch him. To shake the answers out of him.

Jean takes a shaky breath, leaning against Erwin for support. “We were... in the backyard. The garden.”

Erwin's brow furrows. “Who else was with you?”

“No one,” Jean says, his voice cracking. “It was just us. We were alone.”

Alone? Eren feels his blood turn to ice, his fists curling so tightly that his knuckles ache. What the hell were they doing alone? The thought digs in like a splinter. If Jean touched her... if he took her out just so he could try to hook up with her—he doesn't even know if he can pretend anymore. Universe be damned.

“These men came out of nowhere,” Jean continues. “I thought they were guards at first, but they weren’t. They jumped me... and took Mikasa.”

The words hang in the air like a death sentence.

Rod Reiss approaches them, with Historia by his side. Her blue eyes lock onto Eren's and she narrows her gaze. “The garden belonged to my eldest daughter,” Rod says. “No one goes out there much anymore.”

Eren barely registers Rod’s words. His mind is spiraling. He has to find her.

Hange speaks up. “I'll call the police,” they say, already pulling out their phone.

Erwin exchanges a glance with Rod, whose face remains neutral.

Rod gestures to one of his guards. “Gather a few men. Lock down the estate. Make sure no one leaves until you all find her.” His gaze sweeps over the crowd, and then back to the guard. “I need someone to go with them to identify her.”

“I will,” Sasha volunteers immediately.

As she and the head guard hurry out, Eren’s body starts to tremble. He needs to act. Now.

He starts for the door. But before he can get far, Erwin's hand clamps down on his arm, pulling him back. The principal drags him away from the crowd, to a secluded corner, away from prying eyes and ears.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Erwin asks, his brows furrowed.

Eren shakes off his hand. He grits his teeth. "I'm going to find her."

Erwin steps closer, lowering his voice so the crowd can’t hear. “You're not thinking straight. I can’t just have you running off into the night. Let the guards and police handle this.”

"No you don't get it," Eren says, jabbing his finger against Erwin's chest. "Mikasa is the only reason I'm here. I only care about finding out the truth and protecting this timeline because she and Armin are still alive here. You know that. She's in danger, and you expect me to stay here and do nothing? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Erwin's eyes harden. Then he takes a deep breath and runs his fingers through his hair, glancing at the crowd. The students are panicking, whispering among themselves, the mood shifting. Rod and Hange are speaking. Jean is seated in a corner with Connie by his side and Levi who is inspecting his injuries.

Levi's gaze shifts to them. He glances between Erwin and Eren and frowns.

Erwin finally speaks, his voice strained. "Go."

Eren's jaw clenches. Then he nods and Erwin does the same. He turns and moves quickly through the ballroom. When he's out, his mind starts to race. Where should he go? He can't track Mikasa down, and the Reiss Estate is too vast, too complex. He has no idea where to begin looking. He doesn't know where Mikasa is.

"Eren! Wait!"

Eren freezes and turns. Armin is hurrying toward him, his face pale. And next to him, holding her dress up while running, is Historia.

Eren scowls. "What are you two doing?"

Armin is breathless when he responds. "We're here to help."

“I don’t need help,” Eren mutters. "You two need to head back to the party."

He begins to walk away, but Historia's next words stop him.

"I know where Mikasa might be," she says.

Eren stops in his tracks. He spins around, eyes narrowing as she a steps forward. She stands tall, her chin tilted upward, meeting his gaze without flinching. He scowls. “You’re a liar,” he snaps.

Historia doesn’t back down. She crosses her arms. “Do you really think that?”

There’s a challenge in her words, one that Eren isn't willing to ignore. He stalks forward until he's towering over her. His voice is low and dangerous. "Tell me. Now."

She smiles, a slow, almost sly smile. “This estate is old,” she says, voice lowering slightly. “It’s impossible for someone to enter without being wanted here. My father’s security is the best in the country. If Mikasa is still here, they’ll find her.”

"But?" he asks. There's a but. He can sense it.

“But,” Historia adds, glancing around briefly. “there is... somewhere they could have come in through without getting caught."

"Show me," Eren orders.

"Not until you agree to my terms," she counters.

Eren glares at her. "Are you really doing this now?"

"Uhm, what's going on?" Armin asks, glancing between them. "What terms?"

Eren ignores him. He doesn't have time for this. He needs to find Mikasa and every second he spends in this conversation is a second he could be using to find her.

Historia's eyes flash. "Well, what's it going to be?"

Eren doesn’t hesitate. “No.” He turns away, his steps heavy as he walks off, leaving her standing there.

“You’re making a mistake,” she calls after him. “Mikasa could be in danger. There’s no telling where they’ve taken her. If those men could get onto the estate, they can get out too. And that is the only way."

Eren stops dead in his tracks, his shoulders tense. For a moment, he stands still, but then, without warning, he grabs his hair and lets out a raw, frustrated scream that echoes into the night. His voice cuts through the air, loud and ragged, a burst of helplessness and rage. The sound makes everyone freeze for a moment—Armin, Historia, even the wind seems to die down.

"Fuck!" he screams and his hands drop to his sides, fisting.

He's going to give in.

He takes a deep breath and turns around, his eyes hard. His jaw clenches. "Fine. I'll agree to your terms," he spits out the words like a curse. "But only if Mikasa is in this place you say she may be. If she's not, we're done."

Historia blinks, taken aback by his sudden agreement, but she doesn’t hesitate for long. "Fair enough," she says, looking between him and Armin before motioning for them to follow her. “This way,” she adds.

They walk in silence down a winding path, the trees looming around them. The air is cold, the sky dark, but Eren doesn’t feel any of it. All he can focus on is the growing knot in his stomach. Every crunch of their footsteps on the gravel seems louder than it should. Historia leads he and Armin further into the estate until they reach a spot where the trees thin out, giving way to a small lake. Moonlight glistens on the water’s surface, and ahead of them is a narrow bridge. It's stone arch is old, but sturdy, and beneath it, Eren can make out the shape of a gate.

Historia stops near the shore. She stops and points to the space beneath the lake.

“There,” she says. “Under the bridge.”

Eren and Armin move closer, peering beneath the arch. In the moonlight, they can make out a large tunnel built into the stone, its opening hidden by the shadows. It's old, barely visible unless you know where to look. The tunnel curves out of sight, vanishing into the darkness.

“These tunnels lead out of the estate,” Historia explains, stepping closer to the edge. “They were built centuries ago. Not many people know about them.”

Eren is silent, his eyes narrowing as he stares into the gaping black hole.

Armin asks, “How do you know about them?”

Historia gives a faint smile. “My sister showed me. She used to sneak through them to meet boys. It was her secret way out.”

Eren kneels down, inspecting the ground near the opening. His eyes narrow as he spots faint footprints in the dirt, barely visible under the moonlight. Someone had been here recently. He looks back up at Historia and Armin.

“I’ll go in,” he says, standing and dusting his hands. “Armin, come in after me soon. If Mikasa is in there, I want you to get her out while I deal with the men.”

Armin hesitates. "Are you crazy? We should call the police and Principal Erwin first."

"No." Eren shakes his head. "Just do as I say. Please."

Armin glances between him and the tunnel. “Okay, then how do I know when to come in?”

Eren tightens the hairband around his hair. “You’ll hear them scream."

Without waiting for a response, he steps into the tunnel, the darkness swallowing him whole.

Mikasa's eyes flutter open, and for a moment, she's lost in a fog. She's disoriented, her head throbbing, her mouth dry. It's dark. She feels weightless, as if she's floating. The pain in her head sharpens, bringing her back to reality. Her fingers twitch, curling, gripping the cold floor. The rough stone scrapes against her skin. Blinking, she takes in her surroundings—a dark, narrow tunnel with walls of rough rock, wet with trickling water that leaves a faint, earthy scent. The air feels heavy, stale.

Ahead of her, two men stand, backs turned, speaking in low voices. Their words filter through the haze in her mind.

“There are guards patrolling the estate. It seems that kid woke up and caused an alarm,” says one of them, sounding frustrated.

Jean. Mikasa clenches her jaw, remembering. The two men who had attacked them had knocked her out.

The other man snorts. "So what? It doesn’t matter. No one’s finding this place. Grab the girl. We keep walking until we reach the end, and we’re out."

No. Mikasa pushes herself up, gaze darting around the space for anything, anything she can use. She spots a rock near her hand, large and jagged. Her fingers close around it, and she draws it closer, tensing her body as she waits for the men to turn.

Not like this. Not after that night with her parents, after clawing her way out of the darkness time and again. Not after finally tasting something close to normalcy—a real school, real friends. She’d been dancing, laughing, living, and then they came, tearing it all apart.

Silently, she shifts, rising up on her knees, her grip tightening on the rock. Her eyes flick to the man nearest her. His back is still turned, but she knows her chances are slim. She moves, slipping up behind him before he senses her. She strikes him hard with the rock, the blow landing with a sickening crack. Blood splatters, and he stumbles, clutching his head with a groan of pain. The other man whips around, eyes widening as he pulls a gun from his belt, pointing it at her.

Mikasa lunges, trying to close the distance, but he swings the gun, slamming it into the side of her head. She collapses, her vision darkening briefly as she hits the ground. Pain throbs in her temple, and when she opens her eyes again, she sees both men looming over her, one sneering as he wipes the blood trickling from his brow.

“You’re going to regret that,” he snarls.

But behind them, a shadow shifts—a figure stepping out of the darkness. Mikasa’s breath catches as her gaze sharpens.

Eren?

The men spin around, eyes widening as they raise the gun and aim it at the figure standing in the shadows. “Who the hell are you?” one of them snarls, his voice trembling. “What are you doing here?”

Eren steps forward. His eyes briefly flicker to Mikasa, a softness breaking through the hard set of his expression. “Are you okay?” he asks and she nods, though confused. How did he even find her? Why is he here? Eren’s jaw clenches, that soft moment gone as he turns his focus back to the men.

In a blur, he lunges forward. Before the men can react, Eren has the armed one pinned against the wall, his fist driving mercilessly into the man's face. The gun clatters to the floor, but he barely registers it, his eyes locked onto the man. He punches him again, his fist landing with a brutal crack. Then he drives his knee into the man's stomach, sending him crumpling to the ground.

The other man tries to flee, but Eren catches him. He yanks the man toward him, twisting his arm behind his back until he screams. The sound echoes through the tunnel. The man writhes and kicks, desperate, but Eren's grip only tightens. He grabs the man by his hair and slams his head into the wall. The man sinks to the ground, limp.

The second assailant on the floor tries to stand but Eren tackles him to the ground, fists slamming down as though he’s a machine built for this—cold, mechanical, unbreakable. Blood stains his knuckles, smearing across his all-black outfit. A scream rings out, a hollow, desperate sound, and Mikasa can’t help but stare. There's something dark and unrecognizable in the boy before her. Eren Yeager doesn’t fight like a boy. He fights like he’s been trained to destroy.

Hurried footsteps echo down the tunnel. “Mikasa!” Armin’s voice cuts through the darkness.

She turns. He reaches her, his face lined with worry. “Are you okay?” he asks, helping her stand as she nods shakily. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Armin’s arm around her shoulders is steady, guiding her as they move away from the fight. As they walk out of the tunnel, Mikasa’s eyes adjust to the moonlight, the cool night air washing over her. Waiting just outside is a blonde girl, dressed in a pretty blue gown. She's beautiful, like a princess straight out of a fairytale.

The girl's gaze fixes on Mikasa, eyes wide with surprise. “Is she okay?” she asks Armin. “Where’s Eren?”

Armin shakes his head. “He’s still inside.”

The girl frowns, glancing at the tunnel entrance. “That's it. I'm calling the head guard,” she says, already pulling out her phone from her purse.

Just then, the screaming from inside stops and silence hangs in the air. They turn toward the tunnel. It's empty. The darkness is still.

"Eren?" Armin whispers and Mikasa's chest constricts.

Eren emerges from the shadows. His eyes are dark, his breathing ragged, hair a mess. He's covered in blood and dirt. Armin's eyes widen. "Are you okay?"

His hands are stained crimson, blood-streaked against his knuckles, and smeared across his clothes, his skin. But his expression is hard, his mouth pressed into a tight line as he stares at Mikasa.

She opens her mouth, searching for words—thank you, maybe, or something that could convey the gratitude and shock coursing through her—but before she can speak, Eren strides toward her. Without warning, he pulls her into a tight hug, his arms wrapped around her.

It feels good. Better than good. For a moment, Mikasa is too stunned to move. Her mind reels, heart racing, and she closes her eyes, inhaling deeply. Then the confusion sweeps over her. Eren Yeager is hugging her, holding her like he’s afraid to let go, his breath warm against her hair.

Her heart pounds in her chest. Slowly, her hands find their way to his back, the fabric of his shirt bunched in her fists, holding on.

It feels right.

Chapter Text

The echo of sirens fills the air as Mikasa, Armin, Eren and the blonde girl - who she just found out is Historia Reiss, the daughter of the man she bumped into earlier - approach the hall. A crowd has gathered, murmuring in low voices, and flashing lights illuminate the night. The police officers who met them at the bridge are now leading the two men in handcuffs, their heads down, faces bruised. Mikasa feels a weight settle in her chest. The chaotic scene around her pulls her back to that night months ago, to the sight of police lights casting cold, blue hues over everything she had once loved. Her life reduced to a spectacle when all she wanted was to turn back time, to undo everything.

A presence beside her breaks through her thoughts. Eren walks right next to her and her thoughts drift back to everything that had just happened. He saved her—risked his life for her—and then, inexplicably, he hugged her, held her close like he was afraid to let go. What did that mean?

Up ahead, she spots Sasha, Jean, and Connie pushing their way through the crowd, their faces full of worry. She takes a step toward them, but Eren blocks her path, his body tense, his eyes narrowing at Jean. "You’re crazy if you think I’ll let you get close to her again," he says, his voice cold, laced with a threat.

Jean’s expression hardens, his jaw tightening.

"What the hell is your problem, man?" Connie demands.

Even Armin glances at Eren in confusion, clearly surprised. "Eren..." he whispers.

Mikasa doesn't understand, either. But her confusion is cut short when a single voice cuts through the air.

"Both of you brats step away from her," it commands, pulling everyone’s attention. Mikasa turns to see Levi and Erwin approaching, their expressions unreadable. Levi’s gaze narrows as he assesses the situation, his eyes flickering to Eren and Jean with a hint of irritation. His eyes sweep over her body and he gives her a single nod, as if silently confirming she’s unharmed.

Erwin, however, offers her a sad, reassuring smile. "Mikasa," he says gently, "are you alright?"

She nods. "I am," she replies, steadying her voice.

"Good. But we need to get you checked at the hospital before anything else," he says, and then nods at Levi. "Since Levi’s an adult, he’ll be going with you."

She doesn’t protest, simply nods. She steps toward Levi and notices how he shoots Eren and Jean a warning look, as if daring them to protest. Then, without another word, he leads her away.

As they walk, she can’t resist looking back one last time. Eren stands there, staring after her.

He looks...sad.

Mikasa settles into the small, cozy room of the school clinic. Unlike the main hospital in town, it’s quiet here, with the faint scent of antiseptics in the air. Sunlight filters through the blinds, creating a warm, dappled glow on the walls. A few chairs line one side of the room, and a small table holds a tray with neatly organized medical supplies. The bed is comfortable enough, with crisp white sheets, and there’s a small window nearby that offers a view of the courtyard outside.

Mikasa had stayed in the hospital for two days before being transferred back to the school clinic for the remainder of her stay. Dr. Yeager, or Grisha, as he'd now made her call him, stands at the foot of her bed, a warm smile on his face. “Luckily, you didn’t sustain any major injuries. But that hit to the head,” he says, pointing gently at her bandaged forehead, “is the only reason we kept you here.”

Mikasa touches the spot, feeling the small scar under the bandage. She lets out a soft sigh.

Grisha’s smile softens. “I’ve missed seeing you around, Mikasa. Tell me, are you enjoying school?”

Mikasa nods. Her smile is faint. “I’ve been making friends, at least,” she replies. "But I missed you too."

She'll never be truly able to express her gratitude to the Yeagers for how much they helped her after her parents' death, to Grisha for getting her into Survey Academy.

The doctor chuckles, nodding. "You can always stop by the clinic and say hi, whenever you have the time," he says. His eyes twinkle, a hint of fatherly warmth there. “I'm glad you're making friends though. Now, rest up. You'll get to leave tomorrow. Enjoy your little break from classes while you’re here—because when the real work starts, you’ll be wishing for more days off.”

Mikasa laughs softly. Just then, a knock sounds at the door.

“Come in,” Grisha calls out, and the door opens to reveal Sasha. She beams at Mikasa, striding over with a small brown bag in her hands.

“Good morning, Dr. Yeager,” Sasha greets with a bright smile before skipping over to Mikasa’s bedside. “You missed Teriyaki Tuesday, but don’t worry—I managed to convince one of the new chefs to give me some of the leftovers.” She sets the bag down and takes out a takeout container, setting it on the bedside table. The savory smell of meat wafts through the air, making Mikasa's stomach rumble.

Sasha grins, her eyes gleaming.

Grisha clears his throat. "I'll be back later, Mikasa," he says, his gaze moving between the two girls.

With a parting wave, he leaves. Sasha hops onto the bed next to Mikasa, handing her the container. "Are you okay?" she asks

"Yeah, I feel a lot better now," Mikasa says as she takes the container gratefully. She digs into the food, barely registering Sasha's next words.

"So I have a question. Two questions actually."

"Mmhmm?" 

"Are you related to Mr. Ackerman?"

Mikasa almost chokes on her rice. "Uh, apparently, we're cousins?"

"Cousins?" Sasha's jaw drops.

Mikasa shrugs. "I didn't know either until I got here actually."

"Whoa," Sasha says, and Mikasa can tell her brain is racing, putting the pieces together. "I saw your last name and couldn't stop thinking about it. There's no family resemblance there, though."

Mikasa laughs. "Well, yeah," she says, taking another spoonful. "So what's the second question?"

Sasha licks her lips leans closer. Her voice lowers to a whisper. "Are you dating Eren Yeager?"

This time, Mikasa really does choke. "W-what?" she sputters.

"You heard me," Sasha says. She grins, nudging Mikasa with her elbow. "He almost ripped Jean's head off when he found out you'd been taken. And then he ran off like the freaking hero from a movie or something."

Mikasa flushes. Her gaze drops to the floor and she frowns. Since she started at the academy, Eren Yeager has been nothing but a jerk toward her. So why did he suddenly act so protective? Why did he save her?

She shrugs. "I don't know why he did that. We've never even had a full conversation before."

"Hmmm, so there's nothing going on?"

"No," Mikasa says, her voice firm. "Absolutely not."

Sasha studies her for a moment and then nods. "I see. Well, that's good because I think Jean has a thing for you," she adds. "Not that he would ever admit it, of course. But he's not a bad guy. A bit of a dumbass, but not bad."

Mikasa frowns, unsure what to say. She had fun dancing with Jean at the masquerade, but their little moment in the garden, the one that almost ended in a kiss? That hadn't felt right. She licks her lips and shrugs, offering a small smile. "I don't really have time for a relationship," she says finally.

"I get it," Sasha says nodding. Then her expression shifts. "Anyway, I brought a few notes from our classes. You're gonna want to catch up because the math quiz is coming up."

Mikasa groans, and Sasha laughs. She's glad to have a friend like her.

The day after Mikasa leaves the school clinic, she settles back into her routine at the academy. But for an entire week, whispers and lingering gazes follow her everywhere she goes. She knows they’re talking about her—about the girl who was nearly kidnapped at a school dance. Of all the things she wanted from this place, unwanted attention wasn't one of them. She tries to push it all aside, breezing through her math quiz and adjusting to life with a new phone Grisha got for her (her old one was smashed during the attack).

As she sets it up, she notices that there aren’t many texts yet—just one from an unknown number.

“8 a.m. on Friday at the school gym. Don’t be late.”

Mikasa frowns. It’s Friday. She types back, Who is this? The message is read almost instantly, but no reply follows.

She bites her finger. Sasha is out taking her cooking class—an extracurricular she joined recently— and Mikasa doesn't have any class this early. It can't hurt to show up and find out who it is, right?

She gets off her bed and pulls on a hoodie over her shirt. She grabs her campus map. She hasn’t really explored the grounds enough to have found the gym yet. Maybe today would change that.

It's a cold morning. The air carries the fresh, sharp bite of early winter, even though it's not even the middle of October yet. Mikasa tugs her hood up, burying her hands in her pockets, her breath forming soft, misty puffs in front of her. The campus is quiet in the early morning, with few students around, and she follows her map closely as she makes her way through the twisting stone paths and past tall trees.

Eventually, she spots the gym up ahead. It’s set apart from the older, grander buildings of the academy. Large glass windows wrap around the upper floors, allowing in plenty of light during the day, and thick, steel pillars frame the wide entrance. The entire area is silent.

Mikasa shivers. Was this some sort of prank?

She heads inside, following the signs until she reaches the gym. Her gaze sweeps over the array of equipment scattered across the space. There’s a faint sound of running water somewhere nearby—probably the showers. She calls out, “Hello?” and waits. Glancing down at her phone, she’s tempted to hit dial on the unknown number that sent her the message. Just then, the water stops and footsteps echo throughout the gym.

Her heart skips.

Mikasa looks up and feels her breath catch. Eren Yeager steps into the gym, his body glistening with moisture, clad only in a pair of low-slung sweatpants. His skin is damp, droplets tracing along the defined lines of his chest and shoulders, and his long, brown hair falls in wet strands past his shoulders. His green eyes lock onto hers, and her gaze travels over him, lingering before she manages to swallow and pull herself back together.

For a moment, he just watches her in silence. Then, he casually pulls a shirt over his head. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Mikasa stammers, searching for her words. “I... I got a text.”

His eyebrows knit together. “From who?”

Before she can answer, a voice interjects from behind her. “From me.”

Mikasa turns to see Levi approaching. Behind him are two girls: one blonde, the other with short brown hair. Both give her a brief, almost dismissive glance before moving past her to Eren, exchanging quick high-fives with him.

Mikasa’s gaze shifts from them back to Levi. She finally asks, “What is this about? Why did you text me?”

Without elaborating, he nods for her to follow him and leads her down a narrow hallway. They stop at a small office door, and he gestures for her to step inside.

Mikasa follows him in, glancing around the room. The walls are lined with shelves, neatly organized with books, and a desk sits in the center. The air smells faintly of pinewood. Levi takes a seat on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, observing her.

“I guess you’re doing better now,” he says.

Mikasa nods. “Yes, I am. Thank you."

With a small, satisfied nod, he reaches into a stack of files on his desk, picks one up, and drops it in front of her so it faces her. “Good,” he says, gesturing to the file. “Because starting today, you’ll be taking combat training with me. The basics first—close combat, defense, strategy. You’ll be learning how to handle a variety of situations, ones where you may need to protect yourself or others. The goal isn’t to teach you to throw punches without reason. It’s about control and readiness.”

Mikasa studies the file. Combat training?

“I thought you said I should think before picking an extracurricular for myself,” she says, looking up at him.

Levi raises an eyebrow. “I did. I wanted you to pick something beneficial to you. Still, after what happened...” He sighs, running his hand through his hair.

Mikasa understands. Her limbs begin to tremble and she sits. She knows how important this is. To protect herself and to survive.

“During my research on our family, do you want to know what I found out?” Levi asks.

She nods.

“The Ackermans,” Levi begins, his voice calm, “aren’t damsels in distress. They don’t wait around hoping someone will come to their rescue. They step up when it’s necessary, not because they’re born fighters, but because they’re driven to protect what matters. It’s in our blood, Mikasa. We’ve always been that way, even if we don’t always know it.”

He pauses and Mikasa stays quiet. She doesn’t know what to say.

“In life,” Levi continues, “you can be one of two people: the one who waits for someone to save them or the one who decides to save themselves. So which one do you want to be?”

Mikasa takes a deep breath. A fire stirs within her. The answer is clear.

Levi sees her decision even before she speaks. “Good,” he says, a slight hint of approval in his tone as he reaches for a pen. “Fill this out, submit it back to me, and you’ll be set to start.”

Mikasa turns, her gaze lingering on the door for a moment as she considers what lies ahead. Then, she looks back at Levi, reaching out her hand. "I'm going to need a pen."

Chapter Text

When Mikasa and Levi step out of the office and into the gym, there are more people than before. Armin and Historia are sitting off to the side, while a tall, broad-shouldered guy with blond hair and a scowl stands nearby, eyeing her. Levi claps his hands, a short, sharp sound that draws everyone’s attention.

"This is Mikasa," he says simply, nodding in her direction. "She’ll be joining our classes from now on. Get acquainted on your own time." Then he turns to Mikasa. "Today, you’re observing. Go sit."

He gestures to the bench where Armin and Historia sit, and Mikasa heads over, feeling eyes on her. She takes a deep breath as she settles in next to them. Armin scoots over.

"Hey stranger," he says with a smile. "How’re you feeling?"

"Good, actually," Mikasa replies, managing a small smile of her own. "Better." She glances away briefly before looking back at him. "Thank you… for that night."

Armin waves it off modestly. "It was nothing, really. Historia was the real reason we found you. She knew about the tunnels."

Mikasa glances at the girl who beams. "Oh, no need to thank me. I did what I had to do."

Mikasa smiles. "Thank you anyway."

Levi’s voice cuts through. "Warm-ups first. Pair up!"

Mikasa watches as the four other students fall into pairs, and her eyes land on Eren. He and the blonde girl have already moved to the center of the gym. They begin with basic drills: push-ups, squats, and lunges. Then Levi moves them into footwork exercises, quick steps forward, backward, and sideways. Mikasa watches it all with rapt attention, taking mental notes. She has never done anything like this before, and her muscles seem to ache at the thought of all that physical exertion.

"Wait." She turns to Armin. "Aren’t you part of this class?"

Armin shakes his head, a grin tugging at his lips. "Nah, Historia and I are usually here to watch. It’s fun to see everyone struggle."

Historia chuckles beside him.

As the warm-up transitions into partner drills, Mikasa sees Eren move to stand in front of the blonde girl and the two begin sparring, each landing punches and kicks with fluid grace. There is a certain beauty in the girl's movements, like a dance. Mikasa can't look away.

Armin leans closer. "That’s Annie," he says, voice slightly hushed. "She’s so…pretty."

Mikasa blinks, glancing between him and Annie as the sparring begins. She catches a small smile, realizing Armin’s got a bit of a crush. "You like her?" she teases gently.

He chuckles and shrugs. Then he points out a few others. "See the girl with the short brown hair? That’s Ymir, Historia’s best friend. And the big guy over there is Reiner. Pretty much everyone here knows he signed up just because he knows Historia’s usually here with Ymir. He's hoping to impress her."

At that, Historia rolls her eyes and mutters, "Please."

Mikasa’s attention drifts back to Eren, who’s focused entirely on his match with Annie. His movements are powerful as he strikes and blocks. Annie ducks, swivels, and lands a solid punch, her fist meeting his jaw with a sickening crack. But Eren barely flinches, his green eyes narrowed in concentration. He lunges forward, his movements sharp and relentless.

"Eren is the best student in the class," Armin says, leaning forward. "It's weird. A couple of years ago, he couldn't even win an arm wrestling match against his dad and, now? He can knock a full-grown man unconscious."

Mikasa continues to watch. Sweat glistens along Eren's skin, tracing down the lean lines of his arms and chest, and the way he fights... it's unlike anything she's ever seen. In this moment, Eren’s expression is controlled—focused. It's different from the look he wore that night. Then, Eren had the cold eyes of a killer. And that killer had been the one who saved her.

Suddenly, Levi blows a whistle and Annie drops to the ground, panting. Eren steps away, his face expressionless, but the air around him practically crackles with energy. Mikasa can't take her eyes off him as he walks toward the bench. Her heart skips a beat, but her attention shifts quickly when Historia jumps up and grabs a towel. She hurries to meet him and hands it over with an easy smile. "That was a great session Eren," she says, her voice light, and everyone nearby seems to take notice.

Annie raises a brow at them and Ymir frowns. Armin sighs heavily and Eren's look is neither happy nor annoyed. He takes the towel from her and mutters a quick thanks, then looks past her and makes eye contact with Mikasa. He holds her gaze for a moment, and a rush of heat spreads through her.

"Mikasa," Levi calls.

She stands and walks up to him.

"What do you think of the class so far?" he asks when she gets closer.

"I can already feel my muscles aching just watching," she admits, cracking a small smile.

He nods approvingly. "They will… a lot," he replies. "We’re an odd number today, so you don’t have a sparring partner but I can make something work." He looks over his shoulder and calls, "Eren!"

Eren approaches, wiping sweat from his brow, his expression shadowed with a faint scowl.

Levi turns to him and says, "Mikasa needs a partner. You’re the best student here, so you can show her the ropes, right?"

Eren’s face tightens, his eyes narrowing slightly, while Mikasa lowers her gaze, suddenly feeling as if she’s intruding on his space. She can practically feel his eyes burning into her.

After a moment, Levi adds, "I'll leave you two to discuss it," before walking away, leaving them standing in silence.

Eren lets out a deep, reluctant sigh once he's gone. "Look, just tell Levi you can’t work with me and ask for someone else."

Mikasa lifts her eyes. "W-what?"

"Annie’s pretty good," Eren says, his tone almost impatient. "So is Ymir. You’d be fine with either of them. But it can’t be me."

Mikasa’s jaw tightens, masking the sting of his words with a scoff as she glances away. "Okay, first of all, I'm not doing that," she says. "Secondly, I wanted to thank you… for that night and—"

"Come with me," Eren cuts her off abruptly, spinning on his heel and heading toward the doors of the gym. Reluctantly, Mikasa follows him through the winding hallways until they reach the weight room, filled with machines and a muted, dusty smell. He stops, turns around, and meets her gaze.

"I don’t need your thanks," he says coolly, barely glancing at her.

Mikasa crosses her arms. "Is that why you brought me here? Just to say that?"

"Yeah," Eren replies, his tone unflinching. "If you really want to thank me, you’ll drop this class, if you're feeling extra grateful, leave this school too. I don’t want to train you. I want you as far away from me as possible."

Her stomach knots, a flash of disbelief and anger sparking in her chest. Eren turns to leave, but something in her snaps. She glances around, searching for something, anything—until she slips off her shoe and hurls it at him. The shoe smacks him squarely on the back of the head, and he stops, a low grunt escaping him as he slowly turns around, his frown deepening as he picks up the shoe.

"Did you just throw your shoe at me?" he growls.

Mikasa’s pulse pounds, but she clenches her fists. "Yes. I did," she says defiantly. "What are you going to do about it?"

Eren’s expression softens into a shock as she steps closer.

"You’ve been nothing but a jerk since I got here. I don’t know what your problem is—and honestly, I don’t care," she snaps. "I’m not leaving this class because I’m done letting people hurt me. And I'm definitely not leaving this school, because I actually like it here. So you’re just going to have to deal with it."

With one swift move, she yanks the shoe from his hand and fixes him with a hard stare. "I’ll see you on Friday at 7AM for our first session, and God help you if you’re late," she adds.

Mikasa spins on her heel and walks away, her heart racing, a rush of satisfaction flooding her veins. She just stood up to Eren Yeager—and it felt so, so good.

Mikasa arrives before 7 AM at the gym that Friday. The heating system has kicked on, the warm air a welcome change from the cold morning outside. She paces, her heart beating faster than usual as she checks her phone. At exactly 7 AM, Eren steps through the door. She tenses, looking up, only to see him pause and take in her appearance - an old shirt and a pair of red leggings - before setting his bag down on the nearest bench.

"You’re early," he comments.

"Yeah… wanted to be on time," she replies, swallowing her nerves. She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "Thank you for coming. I know you didn’t want to."

"Did you forget the part where you threw a shoe at me and basically threatened me?" he asks, giving her a flat look.

Mikasa bites her lip.

He sighs. "When Levi gets here, you’ll have to do the warm-ups with everyone. I’m not going to push you too hard before then so we’ll just go over a few basic moves." His gaze sharpens slightly. "Now, tell me how those men got to you that night. How did they approach?"

Mikasa blinks, not expecting the sudden shift to that memory. She feels a slight tremor in her hand but clasps it behind her back to hide it. "It was fast. They cornered me. Jean tried to protect me, but…" She trails off.

Eren takes a step forward, his expression focused. "Show me," he says. He motions for her to hold her position, stepping around her as if he were one of the men himself. "Where were they? Were they blocking your way out, or…?"

She nods, breathing through the memory. "Yeah, I couldn’t see any way to escape. They were in front of us, but then when one of them hit Jean, I tried to run and help him and, then the other guy grabbed me from behind."

A pair of arms wrap around Mikasa's waist and her back is suddenly pressed against a firm chest.

"Like this?" Eren's voice is a whisper, his breath warm against her ear, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

Mikasa tenses, her skin prickling with heat, and tries not to focus on the way his body is pressed against hers, nor the sound of her heartbeat pounding in her chest.

"This is how he had you, right?" he murmurs.

She nods, feeling a rush of heat at how close he is, how perfectly his body aligns with hers. She swallows, her voice barely audible. "Y-yes," she whispers back.

Except it wasn't like this. Back then, Mikasa felt fear. Only fear. In Eren's arms, she only feels...heat.

Eren's grip tightens, and she can feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back, the warmth emanating from him. Her eyes slip closed, a jolt running through her body as he pulls her closer, his hands gripping her waist.

"Alright. First thing—never let your body freeze, the way you're doing right now. Instead, shift your weight like this." His hand guides her waist slightly, showing her how to lean forward enough to create distance without breaking the hold entirely. "Then you raise your arm," he says, lifting her arm gently, "and twist your body."

He leans close, his voice softer now. "You see? Use his momentum against him, like this…" He tightens his hold briefly, just enough to emphasize his point, before showing her how to pull away from him in one clean move. As she moves, Mikasa turns her body slightly, just enough to glance over her shoulder and catch a glimpse of him.

For a moment, their gazes lock. His eyes are darker, more intense than she's ever seen. A blush rises on her cheeks.

"And then what?" she manages, turning back.

Eren moves again, his grip loosening, his hand sliding down her arm and slipping into hers, his fingers curling around her palm. "Then you turn and pull, like this," he instructs, pulling her into another turn, and his touch is gentle, guiding her every step of the way. "See?" he asks.

She can only nod.

His hands return to her waist. "Now do it again," he commands.

Mikasa moves as he taught her, twisting her body and pulling away, but she's not able to put enough force into it. Her hand slips from his, and she stumbles. His arms steady her, catching her before she falls.

"If you tried to escape that night and ended up stumbling like that, then you would've given them the advantage." Eren's voice is serious, his gaze dark, and she swallows, unable to break away from him. She feels her face flush. "Again," he says.

But when Mikasa tries again, her movements are jerky, and she trips once more, falling into him. His arms are quick, wrapping around her instinctively, and for a moment, their faces are just inches apart.

Eren's eyes flick to hers. "You're not even trying," he says softly.

"I am," Mikasa protests. "This is hard, okay?"

Eren's jaw ticks as he lets out a frustrated sigh. He turns her to face him. "Stop thinking you're safe here, Mikasa." His words hit like a cold wind. "You’re not. Anyone could be a threat—anyone, even me. You were in a highly secured estate and they still got to you. Now imagine what could happen anywhere else, when you have no control over the environment. If you get caught off guard, there won’t always be a Jean or a me to save you. It will be on you, and you alone, to make sure you make it out alive."

His words send a chill down her spine and she feels her chest tighten.

Eren steps closer. "You’re never, ever safe unless you know how to fight. You need to fight, Mikasa."

Fight.

The word that rang in her head the night of her parents' death comes back to her. Fight.

Mikasa closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. "Okay," she says, her voice quiet.

Without responding, Eren moves behind her, his arms locking around her firmly. A shiver runs through her but she doesn’t hesitate. She shifts her weight forward, using his hold against him, lifting her arm to twist and push away in a single motion. She pulls free, stepping forward and spinning to face him, breathing hard.

His eyes are bright, impressed.

Mikasa smiles. She did it.

Eren steps closer, and his gaze darkens, the heat rising between them. His voice is a low murmur, sending a thrill down her spine. "Again," he whispers.

They practice the move over and over. The first few times, he catches her, pulling her against him. But each time, her body remembers, and she pushes away, freeing herself, a smile on her face. Finally, the move comes naturally, and she turns, meeting his gaze.

"You did it," he says.

Mikasa smiles. She did it. 

Chapter Text

'Woods. 6:30.'

The text comes in from Erwin that morning and so Eren prepares, pulling on a shirt, his running shorts and, sneakers.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Armin sit up in bed, rubbing his eyes. His friend watches him for a beat too long. "You’re going for a run?" he asks, voice thick with sleep.

"Yeah," Eren replies, adjusting the collar of his shirt. He spares a quick glance back at Armin, as he pulls his hair back, securing it in a short ponytail. "What?"

Armin shifts, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You know, I never thought you’d be the type to… you know, go running, work out so much, actually be into fighting." He tilts his head thoughtfully. "You’re different now. You’ve changed."

Eren looks away. He hates it when Armin reminisces about the version of him that existed in this body before he got here. His mother and father do it too and it's as irritating as it is exhausting. The earlier they forget about that Eren Yeager, the better for them.

"Is that a good thing?" he asks, masking his annoyance with a hint of humor in his tone.

Armin nods, his expression softening. "Yeah, it is. You’re a lot stronger." He hesitates, then continues, his voice quieter now. "But do you really… not remember anything? From before the… you know?"

For a split second, Eren freezes. His hand tightens around his phone, his jaw clenched. He forces a tight-lipped smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He turns toward Armin, brushing it off. "I don’t remember anything. You know that," he says.

Armin nods slowly, lying back down. "Alright. Just… try to be back on time. We have history this morning, and you know how Professor Kline gets when we’re late."

Eren stands there for a beat longer, watching as Armin’s eyes close again. He slips his phone into his pocket, opens the door, and steps out into the hallway, his footsteps echoing softly. The academy is still mostly asleep, but the morning sun peeks through tall, slender windows lining the main hallways.

At the bottom, he walks out the front door and steps into the cool, fresh air, breathing it in deeply. There are faint scents in the air: flowers, perhaps, but the forest is near.

Eren begins to pound down the forest trail. The conversation with Armin has settled over him, as if he needed another thing to aggravate him. Erwin has been dodging him since the night of the dance. Then there's fresh tension he feels with Mikasa, now that she's in Levi’s training class—his class. She’s there for a good reason, but why does it have to be with him? Around him?

He quickens his pace, moving through the trees, his breath steady but forceful as the early morning air cuts into his lungs. His thoughts drift back to that training session with Mikasa, the feel of her pressed against him, her scent lingering in his mind long after she left. It was captivating, intoxicating, making him feel as though it was crafted to draw him in. He hates the hold it has on him, almost as much as he loves the fact that it’s hers.

The trees thin as he nears a familiar clearing, where he finally slows his pace, eyes narrowing as he catches sight of Erwin, who is standing beside a large tree up ahead. Erwin turns as he approaches, a small smile easing onto his face.

Eren stops, planting his hands on his hips as he catches his breath. "Where’ve you been?" he asks.

Erwin’s smile fades slightly, his expression unreadable. "I needed to take care of a few things."

Eren clenches his jaw, folding his arms as he stares back at him.

"You're upset," Erwin says.

"Obviously. We promised each other we wouldn’t go MIA," There’s a bite to Eren's words.

Erwin takes a slow breath, before nodding. "I’m sorry."

Eren runs a hand over his face. "It’s fine," he mutters, his gaze shifting to the ground.

"Things have changed," Erwin says. "Based on what we know about the timelines, what happened at the masquerade wasn’t supposed to happen. Historia was never meant to be revealed as a Reiss. Not like this."

Eren exhales, a wry smile touching his lips. "Yeah, I know. I was surprised, too. In most timelines, Historia stayed hidden as Krista. Even when her identity came to light, it was always after Rod died."

Erwin nods slowly. "That’s why I had to go do some digging." He pauses, glancing into the distance before looking back at Eren. "I tried to find out what happened to Frieda Reiss. According to my sources, she disappeared. Rod’s heir vanished a few months ago without any formal missing persons report filed. It seems the belief in Rod’s estate is that Frieda ran away."

Eren’s brows knit together. "Well, that's new," he says as he leans against the nearest tree, pressing his thumb to his lips. "Back in Rod's office, I got caught by Historia. We fought. And now, she wants in on this—wants to help us take her father down."

Erwin’s eyes narrow. After a moment, he nods. "Take the deal. If we want any chance of getting dirt on him, we need all the leverage we can get."

Eren hesitates, his fingers pressing into the bark behind him. "Besides the fact that I don't agree with her terms, I don’t trust her." His tone is clipped. "I told you about the woman who killed me, right? It turns out that woman was Historia Reiss… in the previous timeline."

Erwin’s steady expression flickers briefly.

"I don’t know how, but I think she’s aware of the timelines. I can feel it. Whatever her reasons, it’s more than just taking down Rod Reiss. Maybe she's trying to see if I'm a threat so she can go running back to her daddy about what she knows."

Erwin takes a deep breath. "You're right to be wary, but it would be better to keep even our enemies closer, if Historia is an enemy. If she's not, then she is a strong, powerful ally."

Eren goes silent, not meeting his gaze. He grinds his teeth together.

Erwin's hand slips into his coat pocket, drawing out his phone. "Classes are starting soon. You should head back to the academy and get ready."

"I am so tired of playing this whole student role."

"The version of you who existed before the accident had a life. It is your responsibility now to take care of that life."

Eren’s gaze remains fixed on Erwin, narrowing slightly as he studies the principal expression. "Is Frieda's disappearance really all you found out while you were gone?"

Erwin lets a small smile break through. "Always perceptive," he murmurs, almost to himself. "A detective contacted me during my time away. Her name is Petra Ral. She was the one originally in charge of the case surrounding Mikasa’s parents’ deaths, and she had something new to share."

Eren’s hands clench, his knuckles going white as Erwin continues.

"The men who tried to take Mikasa—they weren’t just random attackers. They’re part of a larger network. Petra suspects they’re linked to the same group that murdered her parents." Erwin’s words are measured as he continues, "After the deaths of Mikasa’s parents, the investigation escalated. This group… there are signs that they may be tied to a human trafficking syndicate."

"W-what?" Eren breathes, his pulse racing at the thought.

Erwin nods. "This organization is involved with human smuggling: kidnapped children of value, sold into the black market. That’s why I need you to keep a close eye on Historia, Eren. Too many things have changed from the timelines we knew. We don’t have the luxury of overlooking any allies or any leads—no matter how precarious they might be. Take her deal, but make sure she’s the one who earns your trust, not the other way around."

Eren nods as he draws a steadying breath. The stakes are higher than he’d realized and if those men came back for Mikasa then he'll have to get close enough to protect her, even though that's the last thing he should be doing. A plan begins to formulate in his mind. He can’t afford any slip-ups—not now, and not ever.

Armin stands at the window, watching as Eren disappears into the tree line, his figure swallowed up by the dark woods. He narrows his eyes, biting at the skin around his thumbnail—a habit he’s been trying to shake but one that always creeps back when he’s uneasy. He tells himself for the thousandth time that maybe he’s being paranoid. Maybe it’s his mind exaggerating things, searching for answers where there aren’t any. But deep down, he knows it isn’t paranoia. Eren is different.

Two years ago, he’d been in that hospital room, watching Eren’s lifeless body, his face pale and still, his eyes closed for what they thought was forever. When his heart started beating again, everyone called it a miracle. For Armin, it was a glimmer of hope—his best friend coming back to him. But the Eren who came back… isn’t the same Eren who left.

Armin shifts his gaze to the mirror on the opposite wall, where his reflection stares back. What’s changed? he thinks, running through a mental list of everything that’s different about Eren.

New Eren’s moodiness is almost a constant, like he’s holding back something heavy, only to burst out when he’s pushed too far. Old Eren was passionate too, but his energy was fiery and impulsive; now, it feels controlled, deliberate.

He's now obsessed with building strength and speed, spending hours at the gym or alone in their room working on drills. Old Eren would never have been able to reduce two grown men to bloody pulps the way Eren did in those tunnels. His diet now includes foods old Eren had always avoided, like bitter greens, black coffee, and rare meat. The shift in his music tastes also stands out; rock blares in their room these days, a complete 180 from old Eren's alternative music. Old Eren's grades were top-notch, but these days, he struggles with even attending classes and Armin always has to ensure he doesn't miss the important stuff. Most noticeably of all, the hair—Eren’s long hair, tied back in that manbun—is a big difference. Armin remembers how Eren used to scoff at longer hairstyles, saying, "Who’d want hair constantly in their face?"

This Eren doesn't mind...at all.

Armin rubs his temples, the beginnings of a headache pulsing as he sits down at his desk, sliding his laptop open. It feels ridiculous even to him, but he types the question that’s been gnawing at him into the search bar anyway: Can a soul take over a body after death?

The screen fills with articles—some about folklore, others about possessions, soul transfers, cases of "spirit takeover" in cultures around the world. He clicks through them, skimming the words. Stories of lost souls trapped in bodies not their own, or spirits hitching a ride with the newly dead, who they say come back as a shadow of their former selves.

A cold shiver runs down his spine as he imagines the Eren who lived with him as someone… or something else entirely. It would explain so much: Eren’s strange behavior, his guarded expression. A part of Armin knows it’s absurd, something out of a ghost story. But the rest of him, the part of him that’s been carrying this unease for years, doesn’t find it absurd at all.

He closes the laptop slowly. This new Eren may smile when he needs to and even laugh occasionally, but it’s hollow, practiced. His eyes are darker, his silences longer. He doesn’t have any of the memories from before the accident, doesn’t even talk about the things he used to care about. And when he does smile, Armin sees no warmth in it—just a chill that sinks beneath his skin.

Sighing, he closes his eyes, running a hand over his face. His mind races with theories, each one more outlandish than the last, but the list forming in his mind has one possibility he keeps circling back to, as impossible as it sounds: Eren’s body didn’t just come back to life. Something else brought it back, and whatever or whoever it is... it’s not Eren.

Chapter Text

The classroom is abuzz as Hange, claps their hand once and says, "Guess who's going to be chaperoning this year's camping trip?"

They raise a hand theatrically, and the room erupts into cheers and groans alike. Students exchange glances, some nudging each other excitedly while others let out resigned sighs. Hange, soaking in the reaction, gives a small, satisfied bow and grins.

"I'm really looking forward to this, too," they say, clasping their hands. "Just a quick reminder that you have until Wednesday to sign up for the any competitions. Some of you in specific extracurriculars might already be registered, but if you want to change that, the option's on your school portal. And, that's it for today's class! I'll see you all this weekend!" With a wink, Hange slips out of the class.

Mikasa turns, noticing Sasha slumped over her desk, looking thoroughly defeated. "What was Hange talking about?" she asks.

Sasha sighs deeply, lifting her head just enough to meet Mikasa's eyes. "The school's annual camping trip," she says with all the enthusiasm of someone heading to a root canal. "Otherwise known as the worst part of the semester. They drag us out to the middle of the woods, take away our weekend, and call it 'bonding.'"

From behind her, Connie chuckles. "Come on, Sasha, the school's surrounded by woods. Be more surprised if they didn't want to take advantage of it."

Mikasa frowns slightly, glancing between the two of them. "What exactly happens on these trips?"

Connie leans forward, his elbows on the desk. "Well, there's usually a bunch of competitive exercises and stuff. Like, they split us up into groups and make us do challenges together."

"It's the worst," Sasha adds bitterly. "You have to wake up super early too. Our weekends are supposed to be time away. I don't want to spend it in the woods losing in games I'm clearly not fit enough for."

"But if you do win, the rewards are pretty sweet," Connie counters. "Last year, the winners got a day off from classes. And the food's not half bad either."

Sasha pouts. "Well, you're right about that. The food is decent. But still, it's the principle of the thing! We shouldn't have to go through all that just for a free meal."

Mikasa takes a slow, breath, letting the idea of a weekend in the woods sink in. She has to admit, it could be interesting, and maybe even a chance to test herself, really test herself. If there are any physically demanding challenges, she'll get to see just how much the last few weeks of training have helped. Eren's training sessions have been intense, bordering on relentless. And Levi…Levi is just brutal. She's still sore from Friday's workout, bruises lingering from her last sparring session with Eren. Levi hadn't let her leave until she managed to land a hit on him, just one, but it had felt like a small victory. She may not admit it out loud, but she's grateful. Eren may be distant, guarded, even harsh, but he's helping her more than she expected. 

She doesn't feel as helpless as when she first arrived at the academy.

She turns around, eyes drifting across the room until they settle on him. He's seated near the window, leaning back, arms folded loosely across his chest, gaze fixed on the storm outside. Dark clouds loom overhead, rain lashing against the windowpane. He looks lost in thought, brow furrowed slightly. Mikasa wonders what he's thinking about.

A  jagged bolt of lightning slices through the sky, illuminating Eren's face in fleeting, silvery flashes, and Mikasa's body tenses instinctively. In that instant, she's no longer in a classroom but somewhere...else, somewhere wild. She hears it before she sees it: the deafening crash of yellow lightning striking the ground, followed by the heavy, suffocating dust coating her skin. Her breaths come in sharp, shallow gasps, each one tasting of earth and metal. She's on some kind of battlefield, sweat clinging to her forehead, the air thick with heat and smoke, heart pounding hard enough to feel like it might break through her chest.

In front of her, stands a creature of nightmares. Towering and monstrous, its muscles coil and stretch under thick, corded skin. Its mouth hangs open slightly, revealing rows of teeth clenched in a snarl, and the air around it seems to vibrate with raw, barely contained fury. Steam hisses off its body in hot plumes, dissipating into the scorched air around it. Every line of its form is taut, poised, as if ready to destroy or defend in the same breath. And then, it turns, its gaze meeting hers.

Those eyes. Brilliant, vivid green. She wants to reach out, to move, but her body remains frozen.

"Mikasa?"

The voice jolts her back to the present, pulling her from the battlefield and the heat of that monstrous gaze. Blinking rapidly, she finds herself back in the classroom, the fluorescent lights overhead, the rain pattering against the windows.

Her body feels drenched in sweat, clammy even in the cool air of the classroom. She turns to face Sasha.

"What happened?" her friend asks, brows knit with worry.

Mikasa shakes her head, taking a deep breath. "Nothing…I was just deep in thought."

Sasha gives her a searching look, but doesn't press. "Come on then. Jean's waiting for us in the next class." she sighs, muttering under her breath. "Can't believe that dumbass woke up late. That's a Connie thing."

"Hey!" Connie protests, looking offended as he slings his bag over his shoulder. Sasha grins and playfully nudges him, and the two slip into their usual bickering as they head for the door.

Mikasa trails after them but, before leaving, she risks one last glance toward Eren. He's still by the window, only now he's no longer staring outside. His gaze is fixed directly on her, his eye unblinking, swatching her with an intensity that sends a shiver down her spine. Green. His eyes are green. 

Just like the monster from her vision.

As Eren and Armin head down the crowded path toward the dorms, a voice calls out behind them. Eren turns, catching sight of Historia making her way through the thinning crowd of students. She walks up, a confident smile playing on her lips.

"Hi Armin! Eren, can we talk?" she asks, her gaze flicking between them.

Eren catches the look Armin gives him, a careful curiosity in his eyes that looks just like suspicion. He nods slightly, forcing a calm expression. "I'll see you back at the room, Armin."

Armin's eyes narrow slightly, but he forces a quick smile and nods. "Alright. See you later, then." He gives one last look, then heads off down the path.

Once Armin is gone, Eren turns back to Historia, crossing his arms and raising a brow. "What is it?"

She grins, crossing her arms in mirror to his, though her eyes gleam. "I'm cashing in," she says. "During the camping trip, I want to confirm the rumors of our relationship to the entire school with a public kiss."

For a moment, he simply stares at her, processing her words. He blinks, then lets out a deep sigh, turning on his heel to walk away.

"Hey!" Historia's voice rises sharply, and she rushes forward to catch up. "Don't just walk away from me. You owe me, remember? I helped you save Mikasa!"

Eren halts mid-step and pivots to face her, his eyes narrowing as he studies her face. "Why do you want a boyfriend so badly, anyway?" he asks. "Aren't you…into women?"

Her eyes widen. Shock and embarrassment color her cheeks. Oh right. In this timeline, Historia doesn't know he's aware of that. She's probably not even out yet.

She grabs his arm abruptly and yanks him to the side, away from the bustling path and into a narrow alley between two buildings. She presses him against the wall, her face inches from his, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Did Ymir tell you?" she hisses, her grip tightening on his arm.

Eren raises an eyebrow, "No," he says quietly. "I know a lot of things. And since you want my help so badly, I need to know if you're really worth it."

He pulls her hand away from his shirt, holding it firmly in his grasp. He stares down at her, his eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to be your puppet, Historia. If you want my help, you're going to have to be straight with me. No more games."

Historia's eyes widen, a flicker of fear passing through them before she schools her features into a mask of indifference. She tugs her hand out of his grasp, taking a step back. "Fine," she says, her voice tight. "What do you want to know?"

Eren crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall. "Everything," he says simply. "But we'll start with, what the hell happened to your sister?"

Historia takes a step back, her eyes flashing with confusion, maybe even a hint of fear. "How do you-" She stops herself, glancing away. After a beat, she lets out a resigned sigh. "Why am I even surprised?" She casts a wary glance around the shadowed alley. "We need somewhere private for this. My father donates a lot of money to this school, and I'm sure there are eyes everywhere. We can't trust anyone here."

Eren pushes off the wall. "Fine.Where do you have in mind?"

Historia turns, nodding her head for him to follow her, and slips back out into the crowded walkway. Eren follows her, moving past groups of students laughing and chatting as they head back to the droms. "Where exactly are we going?" he asks, but she doesn't answer. She keeps moving, keeping her head low and her pace brisk as they move past the main building.

Eren watches as Historia walks toward the empty soccer field. The grounds are wide open, dotted with patches of trees whose leaves rustle in the breeze. A heavy layer of clouds looms above, casting shadows that stretch across the well-manicured lawn. The field is deserted, surrounded by lights that have been turned off all day. Historia walks across the grass, her shoes sinking into the damp earth with each step. She doesn't stop until she reaches the center of the field, where she spins to face Eren, her blonde hair whipping around her face.

"There," she says, gesturing to the empty space around them. "No one will bother us. Look, I get that you don't trust me, but I really don't have anything against you. Still, if you have questions, I'll answer what I can. But I need answers too."

Eren nods. "A secret for a secret, then."

She hesitates, considering her next words carefully. "How did you know all these things? About me? About my real name, Frieda…"

Eren's mind spins. He can't reveal the truth about the timelines, not yet. Instead, he straightens and meets her gaze. "I have an insider within your father's estate," he says evenly. "They give me the information I need."

Technically, it isn't a lie. Erwin's contact had been providing them with intel. But he leaves it at that, watching Historia closely for her reaction.

She glances away, her expression shifting as if she's carefully choosing her words. Eren waits  as she gathers her thoughts and when she looks back at him, he says, "It's your turn, then. I'll ask about Frieda soon, but first…why? Why me? There are a dozen other guys around here who are clearly crushing on you. Why ask me to be your boyfriend? I know for a fact that you're not into me."

Historia bites her lip, glancing away. "W-what if I was?"

"Are you insane?"

Historia flinches at his harsh tone, her eyes widening. Then a dry chuckle escapes her lips, but there's no humor in it. "This is exactly why I need you, you don't think anything about me," she mutters. "Being with Ymir was easy. Nobody knew, and if anyone did, they wouldn't care. But now, with Frieda gone, I'm…,” She swallows, shifting her gaze to the empty soccer field. "I'm the heir. My father may have ignored my existence before but now, he will never accept the fact that I like women. There are eyes are on me all the time now, who I spend time with, what I do, everything."

Her voice lowers, thickening with frustration. "There's no way he'll ever let Ymir and I be together, let alone be happy. Ymir is an exchange student; she's hoping to stay in Eldia after leaving the academy, and the last thing I want is to risk ruining her plans because of my father's control over me. If he even suspected something between us…" She trails off, clenching her fists, her knuckles pale.

"He'll find some way to send her back to Marley," Eren finishes.

Historia nods grimly. "Exactly. So I need a cover. Someone who won't actually be interested in me romantically, but who can make it convincing enough to fool people. You're perfect for that, Eren. "This," she says, gesturing between them, "is the only way I can protect her. If my father thinks I'm with a boy, he won't waste time looking any further once he confirms basic details. But if he finds out about Ymir, he'll do whatever it takes to ruin her."

Eren narrows his gaze, absorbing her words. "I see."

He begins to pace in a slow line, hands tucked into his pockets, his expression clouded as he weighs his options. He hates getting tangled up in people's lives, especially like this. But there's more at stake than his own discomfort now. Mikasa could be in serious danger. Avoiding her, or even trying to get her away from the school, might only worsen things; keeping her close would be safer. And if she stays close, that bond between them will only grow stronger. He can almost feel it now, taut as a thread, pulling tighter with every moment they spend together practicing.

Maybe this is a way out, maybe if he has a girlfriend, he can set some kind of boundary with Mikasa. Keep her at a distance. It would be easier to pretend he cares about Historia, easier to keep Mikasa safe.

He stops pacing, turning to face Historia. She watches him warily, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Alright," he says finally. "I'll do it. I'll be your boyfriend. With a few conditions to be set before the camping trip of course."

Relief flashes across her face, but he raises a hand, stopping her before she can say anything. "But for what it's worth," he adds, voice softer, "you shouldn't have to hide who you are just to please your father."

Her mouth twitches, and she exhales a soft, bitter laugh. "It's not a luxury I have right now, Eren. He has too much power over me. He has Frieda, and I have to play his game to find her." She pauses, jaw tightening. "Once I find my sister, I'll be gone from that estate for good. But until then, for her sake, I have to do what he wants."

Eren's expression shifts into a frown. "What do you mean he has Frieda?"

Chapter Text

"We should take a walk," Historia says gesturing to the buildings in the distance. As they start their walk back to the school, she lets out a sigh of relief, rolling her shoulders as she stretches her legs. "Standing around for that long... My legs are killing me." 

Eren silently falls into step beside her. The two walk side-by-side, their shadows stretching across the empty pathway as the evening sun dips lower in the sky.

"Alright, so here's the first thing you should know," Historia begins, her voice low. "My family...they have secrets...ones I don't know half of, because I was born an illegitimate child. My mother kept me away from them, and after she died, well, I was put in an orphanage."

She glances at Eren, as though expecting him to say something, but he only watches her with that same calm look, urging her to go on.

"Frieda, my sister," she continues, a faint smile ghosting across her lips, "she found me. I didn't even know I had a sister. She and I didn't look alike at all, but that didn't matter. We clicked right away. She...she loved me like no one else ever had. And I loved her too."

The gravel crunches under their feet as they leave the field, and Historia continues. "Frieda was the one who fought to bring me into the Reiss estate. Eventually, my father agreed, but there were conditions. He always has conditions."

Her eyes narrow slightly, and her tone hardens. "He made me live in a small townhouse at the back of the estate, completely separate from the rest of the family. Isolated. It was close to those old tunnels. I'd see Frieda sneaking out through them at night sometimes."

They pause, waiting for a group of students to pass, and Eren stays silent, attentive as she continues.

"And then there was my name. He insisted I couldn't be 'Historia' anymore. I had to become someone else. 'Krista.' He changed it, had all my records altered. Even at the academy, he's kept my identity a secret, paid a lot to keep it that way. No one here knows, not really."

Eren studies her carefully, noting her vulnerable expression. He can see the hurt there, the resentment simmering beneath the surface.

"Frieda used to come visit me in the townhouse," Historia says quietly, "I have never told anyone what I think of the things she told me. They'll...think I'm crazy. You'll think I'm crazy."

Eren studies her carefully, his expression unreadable. "Try me," he says, crossing his arms, the flicker of something almost daring in his gaze.

Historia hesitates, her lips parting slightly. Her eyes shift to the quiet path, the faint murmurs of students in the distance. She draws a slow breath. "Fine," she murmurs, looking at him again. "Even though I was kept away, Frieda found ways to come visit me. She'd bring me these stories."

"Stories?" Eren's voice is low.

Historia nods. "Yes. I would ask her to tell me stories about our family and she would come up with the strangest, impossible things, things she promised were only fictional." She pauses, searching his face. "In those stories, our family's had knowledge for centuries, and they've been trying to harness a power, something Frieda called...the Source.'"

Eren's eyes narrow. "The Source?"

"Mm." Historia's gaze drifts. "They believed it was something more than a mere legend. it was like the source of everything, a force that could give us powers. Frieda said our family had been searching for it, hunting for this power for generations, but they could never quite reach it."

A cold realization seeps through Eren as she continues. Could it be?

"I thought they were just short but then..." Historia's voice falters, and she frowns. "One night, Frieda came to me, looking more tired and sad than I'd ever seen her. I asked her to tell me more stories, to see if it would make her smile. That night, in the story, our father was growing impatient. He'd given up on searching for the Source and was trying to replicate it instead."

Eren's breath catches. He stares at her, his mouth a thin line as he processes the meaning behind her words. "What do you mean replicate it? How?"

Historia shakes her head. "I don't know. Frieda didn't say. But she looked...scared. Lives were at stake. She said it was up to us to stop it from happening. We could be superheroes, like the ones you see on TV."

 She trails off, swallowing hard. "Frieda disappeared a few months ago. She promised she would never leave me, but now..." Historia's voice cracks, and she squeezes her eyes shut. "I think my father did something to her. He told everyone she'd gone insane, that she was talking about things he couldn't understand. He said she'd run away. But I know he was lying. I know he was involved in her disappearance somehow. I think...I think those stories were true."

The wind blows across the empty field, rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. Eren stares at Historia, thoughts ricocheting like shrapnel. The Reiss family had known about the source, about that thing he destroyed. But how? How far did their knowledge reach, and what secrets had been passed down through generations? His mind spirals with questions, reaching back into hazy memories and hints of forgotten timelines. The Reiss family always got the powers of the Titans...always. In the 1000th timeline, Eren had tried to stop it but Historia killed him. Had they known about it in every timeline? Had they always found a way to seize hold of those powers?

In the original timeline, the Reiss family had claimed descent from Karl Fritz, and, before that, Ymir Fritz herself. But what if the stories they told were incomplete? What if, back then, it hadn't just been a question of the king using Ymir's powers for his own gain? What if the Eldian king had married her because she'd discovered the source of those powers first, because she alone had touched the force that the king had sought for so long?

There were layers here, buried secrets beyond what Eren had ever considered. The more he probed, the more questions surfaced, twisting his thoughts into dark possibilities. He clenches his jaw, his hands curling at his sides as he looks up at Historia. "We need to find your sister," he says.

***

Those green eyes, fixate on Mikasa. She stares back, a familiar name on her lips, whispered and unsure. "Eren?"

A sudden blare of a trumpet jars her from the dream, its sharp sound ripping through the quiet of the dorm. Mikasa's eyes fly open, her chest rising as she gasps. Across the room, Sasha groans, pulling her pillow over her head. Mikasa rubs her eyes, slipping out of bed and shuffling over to the window, still half-caught in the haze of sleep.

She blinks, her eyes adjusting to the security lights outside, and sees a figure standing in the courtyard, brandishing a megaphone in one hand while a loudspeaker blares out the obnoxious trumpet sound. Mikasa squints, leaning closer to the window. "Is that... Hange?"

As if in answer, Hange raises the megaphone to their lips, voice echoing across the grounds. "Good morning, everyone! Time to wake up! Breakfast is in one hour, and after that, we're heading straight to the camping grounds!"

Sasha lets out a yelp as she rolls out of bed, landing on the floor with a muffled thud and a muttered curse. Mikasa turns back. "What time even is it?" Sasha asks.

Mikasa glances over at the digital clock on the wall, and it blinks back at her: 4:03 a.m. She sighs.. "It's just past 4 a.m. We're leaving before six? That's got to be against the law or something, right?"

Sasha manages to sit up, her hair a chaotic mess, and shoots Mikasa a bleary-eyed look. "I don't know," she grumbles, "but if Hange doesn't turn that thing off, I'm gonna do something way more illegal."

Later, the early morning light filters through the sky, over the students gathered outside the dorms. It's a Saturday, so there are no uniforms, just thick sweaters, jackets, and scarves pulled close against the chill in the air. Mikasa stands among them, tugging at her clothes, a little uncertain. Sasha had insisted on what she should wear: a deep green hoodie layered under a navy-blue jacket, and black cargo pants tucked into sturdy boots. She glances around and notices most of her classmates are wrapped similarly.

Armin's bundled up in a heavy gray coat, his scarf looped around his neck almost up to his nose, while Sasha wears a puffy jacket over a bright orange thermal shirt, her head covered with a beanie that nearly swallows her curls. Though Mikasa avoids his gaze, she can see Jean standing nearby in a simple fleece jacket, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stifles a yawn, and Connie hops from foot to foot, his breath misting as he talks to Jean.

The buses rumble to life, engines growling as they idle. Hange stands at the front of the line, clipboard in hand, checking off names as students board. Mikasa and Sasha join the queue, moving slowly forward. Sasha yawns, rubbing at her eyes. "I feel like I'm still dreaming," she mumbles. "Wake me up when this is over."

Mikasa suppresses a smile.

As they approach the bus, Mikasa spots Eren standing off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing a plain black sweater and dark jeans, his hair pulled back in its usual messy bun. Their eyes meet briefly, and Mikasa quickly averts her gaze, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Mikasa Ackerman!" Hange's voice booms, startling her. "Glad to see you're awake. Hop aboard!"

Sasha groans but follows Mikasa onto the bus, finding two seats near the back. Mikasa settles in, glancing out the window as more students file past. She spots Armin and Jean boarding another bus, while Connie waves enthusiastically from the front of the line.

Soon, the buses are full, and Hange climbs aboard the lead vehicle, taking a seat near the driver. "Alright, everyone! Let's hit the road!"

The buses lurch forward, rumbling down the driveway and out onto the main road. Mikasa leans back in her seat, watching the academy disappear behind them as they head deeper into the forest. Sasha is already dozing off beside her, her head lolling against the window. Mikasa sighs, wondering what the day ahead will bring.

The bus rumbles down a winding road, surrounded on either side by thick forest that grows denser the farther they go. The windows are slightly fogged from the early morning chill and Mikasa leans back, slipping her headphones over her ears, and closes her eyes as the music fills her senses.

Outside, the trees blur past in shades of green and brown, the occasional burst of morning sunlight piercing through the branches. She tries to focus on the lyrics, anything to keep her mind from wandering back to Eren and the strange dreams that plague her sleep. But it's no use. Her thoughts drift, unbidden, to the visions she only started getting when she touched Eren's hand. Those eyes, that monstrous form... What do those images mean? Is she hallucinating? Going crazy?

After what feels like a long while, the bus slows, its tires crunching over gravel as they pull into a clearing. The trees part to reveal a sprawling campsite nestled between towering pines and a wide, open field bordered by a narrow river that glints in the distance. The sound of brakes squealing breaks through Mikasa's music, and she pulls off her headphones just in time to hear Hange's  voice from the front of the bus.

"Alright, everyone! Welcome to your home for the weekend!"

Students begin to stir, groaning as they gather their bags and shuffle to their feet. Mikasa glances around, taking in the scene outside as they file off the bus. The clearing is surrounded by towering trees, their branches stretching high above to form a canopy that filters the sunlight into scattered patches on the ground. A firepit is set up in the center of the camp, and to one side, a narrow trail winds deeper into the woods. 

Mikasa steps off the bus, the crisp morning air filling her lungs. She zips up her jacket, glancing around. Sasha yawns beside her, rubbing her eyes. "This place is...nice," Mikasa mumbles, sounding unconvinced.

"Come on, we have to set up our tents," Sasha says. "If we get this done fast, we'll have first pick of the s'mores later." She adds, then walks over to the pile of supplies being unloaded from the bus.

Mikasa follows, grabbing a tent while Sasha gave some stakes and two long poles. They find a spot near the edge of the clearing, close enough to the fire pit to stay warm but far enough away to avoid the noise. Sasha starts unpacking the tent, then sets about staking down the corners, jamming metal stakes into the earth with her heel.

Mikasa kneels down beside her, rolling up her sleeves as she takes a tent pole in hand. She feels the slight resistance of the fabric as she threads the pole through the tent's sleeves, the rough material brushing against her fingers. A breeze stirs the pine needles above, and the earthy scent of the forest fills the air around them. She glances over to see Jean and Connie struggling to fit their own tent poles together, Jean's frustrated voice carrying over the clearing.

Sasha follows her gaze, snickering. "Boys stay on one side, girls on the other," she explains. "Not that I think anyone would try sneaking into someone else's tent, but you know…rules." She secures another stake, patting it down before grabbing the next one. "They have teachers taking shifts to patrol at night too. Gotta keep everyone in line, I guess.."

Mikasa nods, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she secures the final pole. "Good thing you know how to do this," she says. "I'm not sure I'd be much help on my own."

Sasha grins, eyes twinkling with pride. "I might hate this whole thing because of the competitions and the fact that we have to do it on a weeked, but I go on a lot of camping trips with my family. I've got this down to an art." She stands, dusting her hands off as she inspects their work with a satisfied nod. "Hold on, forgot to grab a tarp cover. Be right back!"

As Sasha hurries off, Mikasa finishes tightening the last few straps, kneeling down to adjust the tent's front flap. She's pulling the fabric taut, when she hears footsteps approaching from behind. Straightening up, she turns and sees Jean, hands in his pockets, glancing around as if trying to appear casual.

Mikasa looks away. They haven't spoken much since the night of the dance, when he almost...kissed her. When she got back from the hospital, he had apologized for not protecting her but since then, they’ve always been around Sasha and Connie, never alone long enough to actually talk about the almost-kiss. She's not sure she's ready for that conversation yet.

"Hey," he says, his gaze flicking toward the tent. "Looks like you two are way ahead of us." He nods in the direction of Connie, who is wrestling with a tangled bundle of stakes, looking exasperated.

Mikasa nods. "Sasha knows her way around setting up a tent."

Jean shrugs, giving a half-smile. "Figures." He rocks on his heels, then clears his throat, glancing at her more directly. "So…you looking forward to this weekend?"

Mikasa hesitates, then shakes her head. "Not really. Sasha says the competitions are brutal." She pauses, then adds, "But it could be interesting, I guess. Getting out of the academy for a bit, seeing something different."

Jean nods, seeming to relax a little. "Yeah, I get that."

There's a bit of silence and Jean glances around, then back at Mikasa. "Hey, listen...about the dance, I...I wanted to say I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you..." He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.

"It's fine," Mikasa says as she stands. "I get it, Jean. I think you're really cool and I had a lot of fun that night, but I just don't think I'm ready for anything else."

Jean nods. "I get that. I just...I don't want things to be weird between us, you know? We're friends, and I value that."

Mikasa feels a rush of relief. "Me too," she says. "Friends. I like that."

Jean smiles, and Mikasa returns it. They stand there for a moment, the sounds of the camp rising around them, the snap of a tent pole, the murmur of voices.

"Mikasa," a voice calls and she knows instantly whose it is.

It's her name, but the way Eren says it - almost sharp, like he's pulling her attention with just his voice - makes Mikasa's heart skip a beat. She turns instinctively, her breath catching as she spots him. He's standing a few feet away, arms loose at his sides, staring between her and Jean with an expression she can't quite place.

For a second, everything around her fades, and her pulse seems to throb in her ears. Jean glances between the two of them, his brow furrowed. "I'll catch you later," he says, placing a hand on her shoulder briefly, before heading back toward Connie, leaving Mikasa and Eren alone.

Eren's eyes linger just a second too long on the spot where Jean had touched her. She forces herself to swallow before she says, "What?"

Eren's gaze shifts back to her, his face unreadable. He stands there for a moment, arms crossing over his chest as he seems to consider his next words. Then he lets out a breath,and says, "Levi told me you're competing this weekend."

Mikasa blinks. Competing. Right. She hadn't backed out when she'd seen her name automatically added to a martial arts competition on the school portal, deciding that maybe it was exactly what she needed. A lot of people had switched competitions, some opting to remain spectators, like Sasha, who had originally been put into a Sunday night race much to her horror.

"Yes," Mikasa answers, nodding slightly as she watches his face. "I wanted to fight people who aren't you."

The corner of Eren's mouth twitches. "You can hardly beat me."

Mikasa scoffs, rolling her eyes. "I've landed hits on you before. I can do it to someone else."

"This isn't a training session. You could get hurt."

Mikasa frowns, her brows furrowing as she stares back at him. "I know that. I'm not stupid, Eren. I can handle myself."

Eren's jaw clenches, his eyes narrowing. "I'm not saying you can't. I'm saying...I don't want to see you get hurt. Not like that."

Mikasa's heart skips a beat at his words. What the hell? Why would he say something like that? She stares at him, trying to read his expression, but he's already looking away, his gaze fixed on the tents being erected around them.

"So what, you're worried about me now?" she asks, her voice coming out sharper than she intended. "Since when do you care?"

Eren's head snaps back to her, his eyes flashing with something she can't quite identify. "I don't care. It would just be embarrasing for me if you lost in front of everyone who knows that I'm your partner."

Here’s the Eren Yeager she knows. Mikasa rolls her eyes. "I'll be fine, thank you very much," Mikasa retorts. "Now if you'll excuse me..."

Before he can respond, Sasha returns, arms full of supplies.

"Got it!" she announces, before noticing Eren. She blinks. "Oh, what are you doing here?"

Eren glances between Sasha and Mikasa, his expression hardening. "Nothing. I was just leaving." He turns on his heel, stalking off without another word.

Sasha watches him go, then turns back to Mikasa with a raised eyebrow. "What was that about?"

Mikasa sighs, shaking her head. "Nothing important. Just Eren being Eren."

Sasha nods and as she sets the supplies down, Mikasa's gaze follows Eren's back. For a moment there, why did he seem...concerned?

Chapter Text

The evening air grows heavier as the sun dips below the horizon, painting the woods in shades of deepening blue. Armin walks through the clusters of students milling around the campgrounds, their chatter and, laughter mixing with the distant sound of Hange's voice booming through a megaphone, rallying participants for the night's games. His eyes stay locked on Eren's figure and he pulls his own hood up, the fabric brushing against his ears as he tries to remain inconspicuous. The deeper they move into the woods, the thinner the crowd becomes, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. Armin slows his pace, his heart thudding as the gap between them widens. He has to be careful—not too close, not too far.

The Eren Yeager who woke up after the accident two years ago wasn't the same Eren he grew up with. If Armin is going to find out the truth, if he's going to understand who or what this person is, he's going to have to become a shadow.

Ahead, Eren pauses and glances around. Armin ducks behind a thick trunk, holding his breath. After a tense moment, Eren steps off the path and disappears into the darker expanse of the forest. Armin hesitates and his mind races. Where is he going? Why would he leave the campgrounds like this? And then he sees another figure waiting further in—a tall man. Principal Erwin.

Armin's brow furrows. Principal Erwin? What could Eren possibly have to discuss with him out here, away from everyone else? His first instinct is to follow them but if he gets caught...

He turns around and heads back to their shared tent. He's not sure how long Eren will be gone but maybe he'll find something if he goes through his things.

Back in the tent, Armin sits on the floor with a flashlight by his side as he rifles through Eren's belongings. His hands tremble slightly. His mind races with questions, his chest tight with unease. Who is this person? What has he done? What is he hiding?

After minutes of searching, he finds something—a small, leather-bound notebook tucked beneath a pile of spare clothes. His fingers hesitate, hovering over its surface. The leather is worn, the edges frayed, as though it's been handled countless times. He opens it carefully, the pages crackling faintly in protest.

The first page is blank, save for a scrawled date at the top: In Year 854, I died.

Armin's heart skips a beat. What?

The next page begins abruptly, the handwriting jagged and uneven, as if written in haste:

"In World 31, the Titans broke down the walls. Eren Yeager: deceased. Carriage accident."

Armin frowns. What is this? Titans? Walls? He flips to the next page, searching for context, but the entries grow stranger.

"World 164. Titans exist, but humanity thrives outside the Walls. Technology advanced. Met Armin, Mikasa. They're soldiers in a global army. I—he—am a farmer. Happy. Unmarried. 

I didn't stay long. Too peaceful. Too alien. They didn't know me."

The flashlight trembles in Armin's hand. He scans the page again, trying to piece together the disjointed sentences. 

"World 361. Armin dead. Executed as a rebel leader. Mikasa missing, presumed dead. Titans are controlled weapons, not enemies. The Reiss family are military officials. I'm a puppet. No control. No freedom."

Armin's breath catches, his throat tightening. He was executed? His pulse quickens as he turns the page. He glances behind him and then back at the book.

"What the hell is this?" he mutters.

"World 491. I'm an orphan. Mikasa is married. She didn't want to talk to me.

I watched for three months. Couldn't bear it."

Armin flips faster, the pages blurring together. Each world is stranger, more unthinkable than the last. His own name appears again and again, often tied to grim fates: rebellion, exile, death.

"World 623. Armin is a scientist. Solved Titan origin. Mikasa is a general. Both dead by my arrival."

"World 624. The Titans still exist. Found Armin and Mikasa alive. Both are happy. Mikasa is married to Jean. It's enough. Didn't disturb them."

His hands begin to shake, his mind reeling. Eren's notes aren't just strange; they're impossible. What does he mean by worlds?

Armin skips the rest and flips until the last page. There's a 1000th entry. Unlike the previous pages, the handwriting here is rushed.

"World 1000. Arrived March 14. No Titans yet. No Walls. Eldia is at peace. Armin is my childhood friend. Mikasa lives in the city with her parents.

Eren Yeager: deceased. Died this morning, age 17. Hit and run"

Armin stares at the page, his breath hitching. Eren - his Eren -  died on March 14. His Eren was hit by a car. He turns back to the earlier pages, searching for something, anything that makes sense. His eyes catch on a scribbled note halfway down one entry:

"They're always there. Armin. Mikasa. No matter the world, no matter their role. They find me. Or I find them."

His chest tightens, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He closes the notebook carefully. The faint sound of voices outside the tent barely registers as he sits frozen, clutching the notebook like it might offer more answers if he holds on long enough.

But it doesn't.

The woods are still, the crisp night air heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. Mikasa's breaths come shallow as she wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, her fingers trembling. The clearing where she stands is lit faintly by the moonlight filtering through the canopy above, her shadow uneven as she shifts.

She swings at the air. Her movements are good—or they should be. Instead, her strikes are off, her timing lagging just enough to throw her balance. She growls under her breath as she tries the maneuver again. Her fist catches on nothing but air.

"Focus," she mutters to herself, tightening her grip. Her hands are slick with sweat, her mind a tangled mess. What if Annie hands her ass over to her? What if she loses in less than five minutes? She pushes forward, launching into a new sequence, but her foot slips on the damp grass, and she stumbles.

"Damn it," she hisses, crouching to catch her breath. Her body aches from hours of preparation, but the tension in her chest is worse. She should be better than this—faster, sharper, untouchable. Instead, her body feels clumsy.

She moves again, forcing herself to repeat the drill, each swing and lunge more desperate than the last. Then a faint rustling sound breaks her focus.

Mikasa freezes, her heart pounding. The hair on the back of her neck rises as her eyes dart toward the tree line. She squints into the darkness, searching for movement.

"Hello?" she calls out. The only answer is the faint whisper of leaves in the wind. Her fists clench at her sides. No. No one is taking her again—not this time.

She takes a step back, her heart hammering against her ribs. The faint rustling grows louder and she's sure it's not the wind. She swallows hard, glancing over her shoulder toward the direction of the camp. If she can just get back to the others, she'll be safe.

She takes another cautious step back—and collides with something solid. Her gasp echoes through the clearing as she spins around. A hand shoots out, covering her mouth before she can scream.

Her wide eyes meet his.

Green. Just like the monster from her vision.

Eren stands before her, his face half-lit by the moonlight. His eyes glint like shards of glass. His hair is pulled back, loose strands falling across his forehead, and his expression is calm, almost amused.

"Scared, Mikasa" he asks, his brow lifting slightly as his hand lowers from her mouth.

Mikasa swallows, her pulse still racing as she glares up at him. "No," she snaps.

The corner of his mouth twitches, but he says nothing, stepping back just enough to give her space.

"What are you doing out here?" she asks, irritated, though her hands still tremble faintly at her sides.

Eren tilts his head. "I could ask you the same thing," he says.

Mikasa turns her back on Eren, stepping toward the rock where her water bottle rests. Her fingers tighten around the cool plastic as she picks it up and takes a long sip. The liquid is lukewarm but soothing against her dry throat. She lowers the bottle, glancing back over her shoulder toward the woods, where she had heard the rustling moments ago.

Nothing.

The trees stand still, their shadows unmoving under the moonlight. Mikasa frowns, shaking her head. Was I hallucinating? The thought unsettles her, but she pushes it aside, turning around—only to see Eren.

He leans against a tree. His arms are crossed over his chest, and his eyes are locked on her. The way he watches her is unsettling, not in a bad way, just...different.

"I'm training," Mikasa says, brushing past the strange tension. She places the bottle back on the rock and folds her arms. "I need to get ready. If you're here to talk me out of it because you think I'm weak again, don't bother."

Eren's brows knit together, and he straightens slightly from the tree. "I've never once thought you were weak," he says simply.

The tone of his voice makes Mikasa pause. She opens her mouth to respond but finds no words.

Eren tilts his head, studying her reaction for a moment before breaking the silence. "Have you seen who you're facing yet?" he asks.

Mikasa presses her lips together and nods. "Yes. Sasha went to check a few hours ago." She exhales sharply, slumping onto a nearby log. Her elbows rest on her knees as she leans forward, her hands clasped together. "I heard Ymir pulled out of the competition so I'll be facing Annie," she mutters, groaning softly. "She's the best fighter in the class." Her eyes flicker to him. "After you, of course."

Eren's lips twitch into a faint smile.

Mikasa stares at the ground, her fingers digging into her palms. "How am I supposed to beat her?" she mutters.

Eren pushes off the tree. "First rule," he says, stepping closer, his hands slipping into his pockets. "Never underestimate yourself."

His words make her glance up. Eren holds her gaze. Then, without another word, he extends a hand toward her.

"Stand up," he says.

Mikasa hesitates for a moment. Then she takes his hand, and he pulls her onto her feet.

Eren steps back, putting a few paces between them. "Come at me," he says simply.

Her eyes narrow. "What?"

"You want to beat Annie? Then show me what you've got," he replies, rolling his shoulders as he settles into a loose stance.

Mikasa hesitates, her heart racing. She isn't sure whether it's from the idea of fighting him or the way he looks at her. But then she clenches her fists, planting her feet firmly on the ground. Fine, she thinks. If he wants to test her, she'll give him everything she has.

Without another word, she lunges forward.

Mikasa darts forward, fists raised, aiming a quick jab at Eren's chest. He sidesteps easily as though he anticipated her strike before she even made it. His hand brushes past her arm lightly, almost teasingly, as he pivots behind her.

"Too predictable," Eren says, his voice low and carrying an edge of amusement. "Annie will see that coming a mile away."

Mikasa grits her teeth, spinning to face him again. "I wasn't trying," she counters.

Eren smirks. His green eyes, pinning her in place for a moment before he gestures for her to come at him again. "Then stop holding back. Show me what you've got, Mikasa."

Her heart pounds in her chest—not just from the exertion but from the way his voice wraps around her name, like he's said it a thousand times before. She takes a deep breath and lunges again, feinting to the right before twisting sharply to the left. Her fist shoots toward his side, and this time, she almost makes contact before Eren catches her wrist.

"Better," he murmurs, as his fingers curl around her arm. "But Annie wouldn't block this way." His voice dips lower as he steps closer, their faces only inches apart. "She'd trap your arm and twist. You'd lose your balance. She fights to disarm and overpower."

Mikasa's breath hitches as she meets his gaze and her stomach flips. She swallows hard, pulling her arm free and stepping back. "Then how do I stop her?"

Eren doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he begins circling her slowly, his eyes raking over her. "Annie relies on precision. She's calculating, but she likes to bait her opponents into mistakes. She'll leave openings that aren't real. You have to see through them."

He stops behind her, his voice a low hum near her ear. "The trick isn't just reacting. It's anticipating. Get into her rhythm, disrupt her flow."

Mikasa turns quickly, her pulse racing for reasons she refuses to acknowledge. She narrows her eyes at him, trying to push away the heat creeping into her cheeks. "And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"

Eren steps forward, closing the distance between them. His hand lifts, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The gesture is slow and sends a shiver down her spine.

"You're faster than her, stronger too," he says softly, his voice almost a whisper now. "Use that. Make her adapt to you. Control the fight."

Mikasa stares up at him, caught off guard by how close he's standing. The heat of his body seeps into the space between them, and for a moment, she forgets how to breathe. "Control the fight," she repeats.

Eren's lips curl into a faint smile. "Exactly." He steps back then. "Now, come at me again. And this time, don't think. Just act."

She clenches her fists, then launches herself at him again, this time aiming for his legs.

Eren blocks her strike with a quick sidestep, but she recovers faster, pivoting to swing at his side. He catches her wrist again. "Good girl," he says, and before she can recover from those words, he adds, "Now, use that momentum. Don't stop moving."

Mikasa twists her arm free, stepping into his space and aiming an elbow toward his ribs. He shifts back just in time, his smirk returning as she follows up with a kick that grazes his side. "Better," he says again, and there's a spark of pride in his voice. "But Annie won't go easy on you like I am."

She rolls her eyes but can't fight the small surge of satisfaction his words bring. "You're barely trying," she mutters.

Eren's smirk widens, and he steps close enough that she has to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. "Do you want me to?" he asks, his voice dipping into something almost teasing. "Because if I do, you might not last."

Her heart stutters, but she forces herself to glare at him, ignoring the way her cheeks burn. "Try me."

Eren chuckles, a low, warm sound that sends another shiver down her spine. "Careful what you wish for," he says, stepping back and motioning for her to come at him again.

And so she does. 

Chapter Text

The makeshift arena is lit by strings of lights that hang between tall trees. The students sit on logs arranged in a wide semicircle, the chatter and laughter rippling through the cool night air. A fire crackles nearby, and the scent of pine and earth fills the clearing. The competitions started a few hours ago and they’re only getting better.

Jean stands at the center of the stage, grinning from ear to ear, a small golden medal clutched between his fingers. He holds it up dramatically to his face, while his friends cheer him on.

"Alright, alright," Hange calls into the mic. "Let’s not inflate Jean’s ego more than it already is. Congratulations to our champion of the log race! But now—" She pauses, drawing out the moment. "It’s time for the combat!”

The crowd erupts into cheers and whistles. Hange raises their hands. “And to start us off, we have the girls' match! Everyone, give it up for Mikasa Ackerman and Annie Leonhart!”

Sasha leans over to Mikasa, squeezing her shoulders reassuringly. “You’ve got this,” she says, grinning.

Mikasa exhales slowly, nodding as she pushes herself to her feet. Her stomach churns, nerves winding tightly within her, but she steels herself. She steps off the log and walks toward the center, her boots crunching softly against the dirt.

The "stage" is a flattened section of earth, surrounded by a thin rope that marks the boundaries. Levi stands at the edge, his arms crossed, his sharp eyes darting between Mikasa and Annie as they take their places.

“You both know the rules,” Levi says. “First to land on their back loses. No dirty tricks, no whining if you do something stupid. Understood?”

Annie’s eyes don’t leave Mikasa as she nods

“Got it,” Mikasa says, her hands already tightening into fists. She glances toward the crowd briefly and catches sight of Eren, standing off to the side, his expression unreadable. She takes a deep breath, centering herself.

“Begin!” Levi commands.

Annie moves first, a blur of motion as she lunges. Mikasa sidesteps instinctively, her mind recalling the movements Eren drilled into her hours before. Stay light on your feet. Watch her hips—they’ll tell you where she’s going.

Annie’s foot sweeps out, aiming for Mikasa’s legs, but Mikasa pivots, narrowly avoiding the strike. She counters with a palm strike aimed at Annie’s chest, but Annie deflects it, her hand darting out like a viper to grab Mikasa’s wrist.

Mikasa twists, breaking Annie’s grip before it can lock. She steps back, her pulse pounding in her ears. Eren’s words echo in her mind: Don’t let her set the pace. Push her. Force her to react.

She darts forward this time, feinting left before pivoting to the right. Her fist arcs toward Annie’s ribs, but Annie spins, catching Mikasa’s arm and using the momentum to pull her forward. Mikasa stumbles slightly, barely regaining her footing before Annie attempts to sweep her legs again.

“Oh shit,” She hears Sasha mutter from the sidelines, clutching the edge of the log she’s perched on.

Mikasa grits her teeth. Annie is better than she expected. Every strike she throws feels like it should connect, but Annie manages to deflect or counter.

Don’t get frustrated. Stay focused.

Mikasa inhales sharply, stepping back to reassess. Annie takes advantage of the momentary hesitation, lunging with a series of rapid strikes. Mikasa blocks them, her arms burning with the effort. She waits for an opening, and when Annie overextends slightly on her third strike, Mikasa drops low and sweeps her leg in a perfect arc.

Annie stumbles but doesn’t fall. She spins midair, her balance almost preternatural, and lands in a crouch.

Mikasa’s breath hitches. Sweat beads on her brow, but she forces herself to stay calm. Fight, she remembers that voice. Fight. The words pulse through her mind, and then, suddenly, her vision blurs—not enough to disorient her completely, but enough to make the world around her feel… distant.

A strange warmth spreads through her chest, and her breath catches. Her limbs feel lighter, as if some unseen force has wrapped itself around her muscles, guiding them. She doesn’t understand what’s happening, but her body moves on its own.

Annie lunges, her hands a blur as she aims to seize Mikasa’s wrist. Mikasa doesn’t think—she reacts. She twists her arm free and strikes with her palm, the blow landing squarely against Annie’s shoulder and sending her stumbling back. The crowd gasps, but the sound barely registers in Mikasa’s ears.

Her heart pounds, fueling the emotion bubbling just beneath her skin. Anger? No. This is deeper, more primal. It surges through her veins like fire.

Annie attacks again, faster this time, her foot sweeping toward Mikasa’s legs. Mikasa leaps, her body moving with ease. She lands lightly, crouching as she spins to deliver a low kick that catches Annie off guard, forcing her to retreat.

The crowd erupts, but Mikasa doesn’t hear them. Her vision sharpens, narrowing on Annie as if she’s the only thing that exists.

Her movements grow faster, more aggressive. Annie tries to counter, but Mikasa’s strikes come in rapid succession, each one calculated to exploit a weakness. A punch aimed at the ribs. A kick that sends Annie teetering. A feint that leads into a brutal elbow strike.

How am I doing this? Mikasa’s mind races. She isn’t thinking about strategy or technique—it’s as if something inside her has awakened, something

Annie tries to grab her, but Mikasa spins away, her fist connecting with Annie’s jaw. The blow sends Annie sprawling, her back hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

For a moment, the world goes silent. Mikasa stands over Annie, her chest heaving, her fists still clenched tightly at her sides. Her body trembles, the adrenaline coursing through her, and yet she feels… detached, like a spectator in her own skin.

The cheers start slowly, building into a roar as the crowd erupts in applause. But Mikasa doesn’t hear them. Her gaze lifts, and across the clearing, she sees him.

Eren.

She gasps softly. His green eyes are wide with shock. He’s…alive.

“What?” she mutters.

Her knees buckle, and she stumbles. Before she hits the ground, strong hands catch her.

“Hey, are you okay?” Levi asks.

“Captain?” The word slips from her lips before she can stop it.

Levi’s brow furrows. “What are you talking about?”

Mikasa blinks, her mind reeling. Captain? Why did she call him that? 

“I’m… sorry,” she murmurs, shaking her head as if to clear it. She presses a trembling hand to her forehead as she watches Annie stand. The girl stretches her hand for a handshake and Mikasa takes it.

“Good fight,” Annie says. “You really caught me off guard.”

Hange steps up to them, holding the mic to their lips. “Give it up for your winner, Mikasa Ackerman!”

Mikasa stands there, still dazed, as the cheers of the crowd grow louder. The realization that she has beaten Annie Leonhart—one of the best fighters in their class—sinks in slowly.

She smiles.

Sasha is bouncing on her feet, practically glowing with excitement. Jean claps loudly while Connie shouts encouragement, his hands cupped around his mouth.

She won.

Half an hour later, Mikasa sits on the edge of a cot inside the med tent, her arms folded tightly across her stomach. The nurse flits around, checking her vitals one last time. At the entrance of the tent, Levi leans against the frame, his eyes narrowed as they fix on her.

“I’m fine,” she says.

Levi doesn’t reply immediately. Instead, his gaze shifts to the nurse, who smiles lightly and gives a small chuckle.

“She really is fine,” the nurse confirms, handing Mikasa a bottle of water. “Just a dizzy spell. She needs to stay hydrated.”

Levi’s shoulders don’t relax. “Good,” he mutters.

The tent flap rustles, and Eren steps in. Mikasa’s eyes dart to him immediately, her heartbeat quickening without her permission. She drinks more water as Levi straightens and looks Eren up and down. “Your fight’s in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

Eren nods. “I won’t.”

Levi takes one last look at Mikasa, then turns and steps out of the tent. The nurse moves to the other side of the tent, leaving Mikasa and Eren alone.

Eren steps closer, his hands tucked into his pockets. Mikasa takes a sip of water, trying to ignore the way her stomach tightens as he watches her.

“You’re here,” she says.

Eren tilts his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You thought I wouldn’t come to check on you after that fight?”

Mikasa shrugs, lowering the bottle to her lap. “I thought you’d be busy getting ready for yours”

Eren moves closer, sitting down on the stool next to her cot. “Reiner is hardly a challenge,” he says.

Her eyes widen slightly. Before she can respond, he leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “Where’d you learn those moves?” he asks.

Mikasa frowns, her fingers curling around the water bottle. “I... don’t know,” she admits, shaking her head. “I just did them. They came to me like I’ve known them my whole life, but I don’t know how.”

Eren studies her for a moment. Mikasa sighs and looks away, her thoughts spinning.

“It’s not just that,” she continues after a moment. “Since I got here, strange things have been happening. I keep feeling like I’m being watched. I get these... flashes”

Eren’s brows draw together slightly, but he says nothing, waiting for her to continue.

She chuckles softly, shaking her head. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“Try me.”

Mikasa lifts her gaze to meet his, her cheeks warming. “I’ve had visions,” she says, trying to sound lighthearted. “I see this monster with green eyes... like yours.”

Eren blinks, his body tensing.

“In one of them, I saw you, but your hair was shorter,” she adds, tilting her head slightly. “And you were—”

Her words falter as she notices the way he freezes, his expression carefully blank but his eyes betraying something close to panic.

“Eren?” she asks, sitting up straighter. “Are you okay?”

He blinks, his composure snapping back into place. “Yeah,” he says quickly, standing up. “I’m fine.”

Mikasa frowns, watching him closely.

Eren takes a step back, his hands slipping into his pockets again. “Congratulations,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You did great out there. But I have to go. Talk to you later?”

Mikasa nods slowly, her chest tightening as she watches him turn and leave.

The tent feels colder without him.

Later, Hange’s voice crackles through the mic, announcing the final match of the night.

“And for our grand finale—Eren Yeager versus Reiner Braun!”

Sasha leans forward. “This is going to be good.”

A ripple of excitement moves through the crowd as Eren steps forward Reiner cracks his knuckles, a show of power that earns a few impressed murmurs.

Sasha nudges Mikasa with her elbow. “Who do you think’s gonna win?”

Connie leans in, grinning. “Bet you ten bucks Reiner takes him down. I mean, look at the guy. He’s a tank.”

Mikasa looks up at Eren, her heart skipping as she takes him in. She remembers the strange sensations she’s been experiencing since that day in the lab—those visions—and how it all began the moment she touched him.

“I’ll bet on Eren,” she says, crossing her arms.

Jean scoffs. “Really? Reiner’s huge—he’ll crush him”

“I’ve been in class with Eren,” she replies. “I've seen what he can do.”

“Well, if Mikasa’s betting on Eren, so am I,” Sasha says.

Levi steps to the center. “Rules are simple. First to land flat on their back loses. No dirty tricks. Got it?”

Both boys nod. Levi steps back. “Begin.”

Reiner charges immediately, a bull barreling forward with brute force. Eren sidesteps effortlessly, his movements fluid as he dodges a sweeping punch. Reiner spins, coming at him again, and again Eren evades, light on his feet. The crowd gasps as Reiner stumbles slightly, recalibrating before lunging again.

Mikasa watches intently, her fingers digging into the edge of the log she’s sitting on. Eren isn’t just dodging—he’s reading Reiner, predicting his every move.

Connie groans. “Reiner, just grab him already!”

Eren darts forward, fast as a shadow, closing the distance between himself and Reiner before the latter can properly react. Reiner swings a heavy fist, but Eren ducks beneath it, stepping inside his reach.

Eren’s elbow slams into Reiner’s ribs, forcing him to grunt in surprise. Before Reiner can recover, Eren pivots, his foot sweeping low to disrupt Reiner’s balance. Reiner stumbles but doesn’t fall.

He says something that makes Eren smirk, then he lunges, his arms sweeping out to grab Eren. Eren twists away and retaliates immediately, landing a sharp jab to Reiner’s side. The sound of the impact is dull but solid.

Reiner grunts again, turning with surprising speed to catch Eren, but his swing meets only air. Eren ducks low, then pops up behind him, delivering a quick kick to the back of Reiner’s knee.

The crowd roars in excitement as Reiner stumbles forward.

“Yeager is…” Jean says, his eyes wide. “Insane.”

“What’s he doing?” Sasha whispers.

“Playing with him,” Mikasa says softly, her eyes narrowing as she watches Eren.

He moves in and out of Reiner’s range. Every strike is precise. Another hit—a sharp fist to Reiner’s shoulder. Another—a swift kick to his thigh.

Reiner is panting now. He tries to swing but the movement is sloppy. Eren dances back, giving himself just enough space to breathe. He glances toward the crowd, his gaze briefly locking with Mikasa’s.

Her heart skips a beat.

He strikes again, stepping forward with a lightning-fast uppercut that catches Reiner squarely in the chest, sending him crashing on his back.

The crowd erupts into deafening cheers, their voices echoing through the night.

Eren steps back, his breathing steady as he looks down at Reiner, who groans and clutches his ribs. Hange steps forward and declares Eren the winner. As they step back, someone darts out of the crowd.

Historia Reiss.

She runs to him, leaping up and wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs curling around his waist. Eren catches her effortlessly, his hands settling on her back as she buries her face in his shoulder.

The crowd cheers louder.

“Whoa,” Connie breathes, his eyes wide.

Sasha snorts. "I guess the rumors are true."

Mikasa’s chest tightens, her breath hitching as she watches them. Eren and Historia. 

Together.

Chapter Text

The murmurs start as soon as Historia steps out of the tent, low enough to be missed by anyone else but sharp as needles to her ears. She keeps her chin lifted, pretending not to notice how heads turn as she walks by. They’ve been like this since last night. Since she wrapped her arms around Eren Yeager in front of the entire camp.

She tugs at her jacket, suddenly self-conscious about the way it clings to her frame. A couple of boys sitting on a log nudge each other and glance her way. She looks down, fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. Before she was claimed by her father publicly as a Reiss, no one paid her any mind. She was just Krista, just another face in the crowd. Now, she can feel them staring at her…judging her every move.

Even the girls, she realizes. A cluster of them—Maya, a tall brunette, Eva, whose braids always sit perfectly in place, and Rina—make their way toward her. Maya flashes a grin.

“Hey, Kri- I mean, Historia,” Maya starts. “So, uh, you and Eren, huh?”

Eva nudges her, laughing. “Yeah, how’d you pull that off? I mean, it’s Eren Yeager. He doesn’t even look at anyone.”

Historia’s heart races, and she forces a smile, even as heat rushes to her cheeks. “It’s not like that,” she protests, the words tumbling out before she can think. “We’re just…”

“Please don’t say you’re just friends,” Rina says. “Because it looked pretty cozy from where we were sitting.”

The girls giggle at that.

“He’s pretty hot though,” Maya says. “Lucky you.”

“We saw how he looked at you,” Eva says. “You guys are so cute together! What’s the story?”

The way he looked at her? Historia resists the urge to roll her eyes. Eren Yeager looks at her like he would rather be anywhere else. The only reason he agreed to this was because of some hidden vendetta he has against her dad.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket, cutting her off. She pulls it out, grateful for the distraction. A text from Eren.

Speak of the devil.

Meet me by the principal's tent. 10 minutes.

Principal Erwin's tent? That’s practically the edge of camp. She glances back at the girls. “Sorry, I have to go,” she says quickly, shoving her phone back into her pocket.

Before she can take more than a step, their attention shifts. Maya’s expression drops into something closer to unease. Eva mutters something under her breath, and Rina grabs Maya’s arm, pulling her back.

It takes Historia a moment to realize why. Ymir.

Historia can taste the bitterness and saltiness of the air whenever Ymir is around. The scent of pine and earth surrounds her girlfriend as if she has been rolling around in the forest all night. Her sharp, angular jawline and high cheekbones make her look like a statue, but her slightly tousled, shoulder-length hair softens the effect. She wears a sleeveless shirt that shows off her toned arms, loose cargo pants, and boots scuffed from years of wear. Historia notices the faint traces of dirt under her nails, the scars on her hands and she takes a step forward.

Ymir strides past the group, hands shoved in her pockets. She doesn’t spare the girls a glance, not even Historia.

“Weirdo,” Maya mutters under her breath and Historia glares at her before she follows Ymir into the tent.

It’s stuffy in the tent and there’s a stifling mix of heat and tension that makes Historia’s chest tighten as she steps inside. Ymir is sitting cross-legged on her cot, leaning back against the canvas wall with an arm slung over her knee. She doesn’t even look up as Historia enters. Instead, she stares at her nails, picking at the edge of one.

"You didn’t come back last night," Historia begins. "I was worried."

Ymir lifts her eyes to meet Historia's. "Worried?" she repeats, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why? I thought you’d hope I’d disappear and not ruin your perfect little act."

Historia flinches. "That’s not fair," she whispers.

"Fair?" Ymir sits up, unfolding her long legs and rising to her feet in one fluid motion. "Don’t talk to me about fair, Historia. You’re the one who gets to play pretend. Playing house with your little boyfriend while I sit here wondering what the hell I even am to you."

Historia feels her cheeks heat. "Eren’s not my boyfriend," she says, but the words come out weak.

Ymir snorts. "Could’ve fooled me," she says. "The way you let him hold you in front of everyone? The way you smiled at him like he was your whole damn world?"

"It’s not like that!" Historia snaps, her voice rising. She glances at the entrace and takes a step back, her fists clenched at her sides. "You don’t understand—"

"Don’t I?" Ymir interrupts, her voice shaking with anger. "I understand perfectly, Historia. You’re scared. Scared of being yourself, scared of being seen, so you hide. Behind him, behind your last name, behind whatever mask you think will make people love you." She takes another step forward, her face inches from Historia’s now. "But I see you. The real you. And you can’t run from me."

Historia’s breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding. "You don’t know what you’re talking about," she says, her voice trembling.

"Don’t I?" Ymir’s lips curl into a bitter smile. "I know exactly what I’m talking about. You want me, but you’re too much of a coward to admit it. And I’m done being your dirty little secret."

"N-no, It’s," Historia says, her voice breaking. "It’s not like that, Ymir—"

"Then tell me!” Ymir shouts. "Tell me why you keep pushing me away! Tell me why I’m not enough for you!"

Because what if you disappear just like Frieda did? What if he takes you too?

Historia knew the cost when her father asked her to replace Frieda, when she took on the Reiss name. Being a Reiss means she can’t just live her life without consequences. It means she has to play the part, even if it means hiding who she is. It means if her father finds out about Ymir, they'll both be punished.

Ymir’s jaw tightens when she doesn’t respond, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. Then, without warning, she grabs Historia by the shoulders and pulls her forward, her lips crashing against Historia’s in a kiss that is anything but gentle. It’s angry, desperate, a collision of frustration and longing that leaves them both breathless.

Historia gasps against Ymir’s mouth, her hands instinctively coming up to push her away, but the effort is half-hearted at best. Instead, her fingers curl into the fabric of Ymir’s shirt, clutching it like a lifeline as Ymir deepens the kiss.

"This it is," Ymir growls against her lips, and her voice vibrates through Historia’s chest. She pulls back just enough to lock eyes with her, their faces so close their noses brush. "This is what you’ve been running from. This feeling."

"I—" Historia tries to speak, but Ymir silences her with another kiss, her teeth grazing Historia’s lower lip before pulling it between her own in a way that sends a shiver down her spine.

"Don’t lie to me," Ymir murmurs against her mouth, her hands sliding from Historia’s shoulders to her waist. "You feel it, Historia. Don’t you dare deny it."

Historia’s heart pounds so loudly she’s sure Ymir can hear it. Her body reacts on instinct, leaning into Ymir, her lips parting as the kiss grows deeper, more heated. Ymir’s hands roam, one sliding up to cup the back of Historia’s neck, tilting her head to give her better access, while the other presses against the small of her back, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between them.

"This is real," Ymir whispers, her lips moving against Historia’s in a way that’s both tender and taunting. "Not that act you put on for everyone else. Not that perfect little doll you pretend to be. This is you. This is us."

Historia whimpers, her knees weakening under the intensity of Ymir’s touch. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, doesn’t trust the words that might spill out if she does. Instead, she clings to Ymir, her fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, as if Ymir might disappear if she lets go.

"Say it…please," Ymir begs as she breaks the kiss, her breath warm against Historia’s flushed skin. "Say you want this. Say you want me."

"I…" Historia’s voice is barely a whisper, trembling. “I’m sorry. I do…”

Ymir pulls away before she can finish. Her eyes are glistening, her brows furrowed. "You can keep pretending and being sorry, Historia," she says coldly. "But don’t expect me to wait around while you figure out who you are."

With that, she turns and storms out of the tent, leaving Historia standing there, tears streaming down her face. She sinks to the floor, her hands trembling as she buries her face in them.

Eren zips up his jacket, tugging the hood over his head as he steps toward the tent's entrance. He pauses at the flap, sensing someone standing just outside.

“Going somewhere?” Armin’s voice is calm but oddly tight.

Eren pulls the flap aside, and sure enough, Armin stands there, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his shoulders stiff. “Yeah,” Eren replies. “Needed some air. Why?”

Armin doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he studies Eren with unusally guarded blue eyes. “No reason. Just…you’ve been sneaking off a lot lately.”

Eren frowns, stepping out of the tent fully. “I wouldn’t exactly call it sneaking off.”

Armin shrugs, though the motion is jerky, unnatural. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze darting briefly to the ground before snapping back to Eren. “You didn’t tell me about Historia.”

Guilt washes over Eren. “What about her?”

Armin raises an eyebrow. “Come on, Eren. You and Historia? Since when? You’re my best friend, and I didn’t even know about it until last night.”

Eren sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Armin blinks. “What does that mean?”

Eren glances around, then he grabs Armin’s arm and pulls him aside, just out of earshot of the other students milling about. "It’s fake, okay? The whole relationship, it’s not real. Historia asked me to pretend to be her boyfriend."

Armin blinks. “What? Why the hell would she-”

“For reasons I cannot say,” Eren replies, looking away. He kicks at some dirt with his boot. “I didn’t want to drag you into it or worry you.”

For a moment, Armin just stares at him. Then he nods, but it’s slow. “If you say so.”

Eren wants to believe that’s the end of it, but Armin’s face doesn’t lie. He looks anything but reassured.

“I’ll be fine,” Eren says, forcing a small smile. “Promise.”

Armin doesn’t return the smile. “Okay, bye,” he says finally.

Eren watches as Armin turns and walks away, his footsteps soft against the dirt. Something about the whole exchange makes him uneasy. Everyone’s been acting strange lately. Armin with the way he looks at him. Mikasa, with her visions.

Those visions... The way Mikasa described them...Could they really be glimpses of his original reality? No. That’s impossible. Isn’t it?

The question claws at his mind as he makes his way toward the edge of camp, the morning air cool against his face. The trees in the distance sway gently in the breeze as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

Mikasa’s words replay in his head—the way she described seeing him. Could it be real? Could she have somehow seen him from before…or another version of him?

The monster she saw. Was it the attack titan?

He shakes his head. No. It doesn’t make sense. But then again, nothing has made sense lately.

Historia doesn’t reach the tent until half an hour after Eren arrives. He leans against one of the tent poles, watching her storm through the rows, nearly stumbling over the uneven ground in her hurry.

“You’re late,” he says flatly.

“Deal with it,” she snaps back. “What do you want?”

Eren sighs. “What’s your problem?”

She spins to face him, anger simmering in her glare. “What’s my problem? You dragged me out here, Eren. I want to know why.”

His expression hardens, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “Maybe if you’d calm down, you’d find out,” he retorts, brushing past her and yanking the tent flap open.

She steps in and he follows. At the center of the space, seated at a simple wooden table surrounded by piles of papers and maps, is Erwin. His piercing blue eyes lift from the document he’s reading as Eren and Historia approach.

“Principal Erwin,” Historia mutters.

“Yup,” Eren says, motioning to the man. “This is my…partner.”

Erwin rises from his chair. “Hello, Miss Reiss.”

Historia crosses her arms. “Partner? Partner in what?”

Eren glances at Erwin, who takes a step forward. “Partner in investigating your family, of course,” Erwin says evenly. “Please have a seat.”

The two exchange glances before obeying, taking their seats at the table. Historia fidgets, her fingers drumming against the surface as she tries to process what this means.

“Why the hell do you have a table and chairs in your tent?” Eren asks, crossing his arms.

Erwin tilts his head. “Where else am I supposed to do paperwork?”

Historia glances between them with furrowed brows. “What do you both want with the Reiss family?” she finally asks. “I want the truth.”

Erwin leans back in his chair, folding his hands thoughtfully. “My father was a teacher. He believed that the truth was something to be shared, not buried. Before his death, he was investigating the connections between the noble families in Eldia and certain supernatural entities. The Reiss family, in particular, appears to hold secrets that could unravel the very foundation of our society.”

Erwin pauses, his eyes briefly darting to Eren before returning to her. “My father believed that the Reiss family possesses knowledge, information that has been passed down through generations but is rarely spoken of openly. Sound familiar?”

Historia’s heart races. “The stories Frieda used to tell.”

Erwin nods with a small smile. “Your lineage carries significant weight in our society, Historia. The Reiss name is intricately tied to many events that have shaped our world. We believe that the truth about the 'Source' within your family history may be critical to understanding the forces at play around us.”

Historia stiffens. “What truths?” she demands. “Are you saying the lives of others have been manipulated because of my family?”

“Not manipulated,” Erwin replies. “More like orchestrated. There are patterns and connections that your family is at the center of.”

Historia swallows hard, her throat dry. She glances at Eren who’s watching her with a blank stare. “And you?” she asks. “Why are you involved in this?”

Eren looks at Erwin, who gives a subtle nod of permission. “Because I’m proof,” he says.

“Proof of what?”

“Of the stories Frieda used to tell you,” Erwin answers for him. “The ones about the source that could grant abilities. Those weren’t just fairy tales, Historia. Eren is a soul who came here using the power of the Source—the same power your family has been searching for for generations.”

She stands immediately. "That makes no sense," Historia says, her voice shaking. "Eren is just... Eren.”

Eren shifts in his seat. “Your father can’t and won’t find the source, because I destroyed it,” he says, crossing his arms. “I could take time to explain how alternate realities work to you, but I simply don’t feel like it.” He turns to her. “Thanks to that thing, I have watched the people I care about suffer, I have watched them die. I destroyed it to stop that from happening again. If your father manages to replicate it, the cycle of pain will only repeat. I won’t let that happen.”

She stares at Eren, her mouth dry, her chest tight. “Alternate realities…that’s how you knew my name,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “And about…about Ymir.”

Eren doesn’t answer. He looks away.

Erwin clears his throat. “But we’re not here to talk about Eren’s past. We’re here because we believe you can help us. It’s your turn.”

Historia hesitates. Can she trust them? They’re the only ones who haven’t made her feel crazy since Frieda’s disappearance. They are searching for answers just like her. They may have their reasons, but they want to find her sister too.

Slowly, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper. She smooths it out and places it on the table between them.

“This,” she says, her voice trembling slightly, “is a page I tore from the ledger that night. It’s a list of properties belonging to my father. I think…one of them might be where Frieda is.”

Erwin leans forward, studying the paper. Eren glances at it as well, his brows furrowed.

Erwin looks up at Historia. “If you’re willing, we can start searching these locations immediately. But it won’t be easy. We’ll need to move carefully.”

Historia nods. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Eren takes a deep breath. “I think we should head out tomorrow. We can take advantage of the fact that we’re not on school grounds.”

The three of them exchange a look and just like that, an alliance is formed.

Chapter Text

On the second day of camp, the kids gather near the clearing for the much-anticipated game of 'Capture the Flag'. The evening air is crisp, and the sun is setting. Sasha bounces on the balls of her feet, her hands clasped in front of her as she scans the crowd and Hange waves their arms dramatically, trying to get everyone’s attention.

“All right, listen up, you bunch of adrenaline junkies!” they call out through the megaphone, the feedback making several kids wince. “You’ve been split into two groups for today’s battle royale in the woods. Your mission: capture the opposing team’s flags without getting shot and bring it back to your base. The team to capture the most flags in forty minutes wins eternal bragging rights. Or at least until dinner."

Laughter ripples through the group, though Mikasa barely pays attention. She’s preoccupied, her eyes drifting toward the other team where Eren stands next to Historia.

They’re talking, his head bent slightly as she says something that makes him smile. Mikasa feels a strange twist in her stomach, a feeling she can’t quite place. It’s not anger, not exactly. Frustration, maybe? No, that’s not it either.

She’s snapped out of her thoughts by Jean nudging her shoulder. “Hey, you with us?”

Mikasa blinks and looks at her team: Jean, Sasha, Armin, and a couple of other kids she doesn’t know well. “Yeah, I’m here,” she says flatly.

“Good,” Jean says, smirking. “Because we’re taking them down.”

“Especially Marco,” Sasha adds with a grin. “That guy’s a beast when it comes to Capture the Flag. We take him down, and the rest will be easy peasy, lemon squeezy."

Mikasa raises an eyebrow. She never thought Marco, her classmate, was the competitive type. He can't even look her in the eye, and when she sits near him, he moves away.

Her gaze flickers back to Eren, who is now stretching his arms as Connie jokes beside him. She tries to ignore the nagging feeling again, the way her chest tightens when Historia leans into him.

“Let’s move on!” Hange’s voice booms. “Team Red, grab your bandanas and guns. Team Blue, grab yours. Your bases are marked on the map. You have twenty minutes to strategize before the game starts.”

Mikasa picks up a red bandana and ties it around her arm. Her team huddles close as Jean takes charge, outlining a plan. “Mikasa, me, you, Sasha and, Armin will scout ahead to find their base. The rest of you hang back to defend ours. The less we are out there, the harder it'll be for them to catch us. If things go south, we regroup here and come up with a new plan.”

The students in team red nod.

"Remember, our objective is to find their base and take their flag," Jean reminds them. "We need to move quickly and quietly."

Sasha cracks her knuckles. "Don't worry, we got this."

Mikasa nods absently, her focus still half on Eren.

“Are you okay?” Armin asks quietly, noticing her distant expression.

“I’m fine,” she replies quickly.

He glances at his best friend too, opens his mouth against it, but then closes it and looks back at her.

Minutes later, the whistle blows, signaling the start of the game. Both teams scatter into the woods. Mikasa forces herself to focus, her body moving on autopilot as she follows Armin, Jean and, Sasha through the trees.

Mikasa bolts into the forest with Jean, Sasha, and Armin flanking her, their shoes crunching against the underbrush. The towering trees stretch high above them, their branches tangling to form a patchy green canopy that lets in speckled daylight. The forest smells damp, earthy, alive.

"All right," Jean says, crouching as he gestures toward the map of the forest that Hange handed out earlier. "Their base is here, just past the creek. If we split up, we can cover more ground. Mikasa and I will scout left; Sasha and Armin, you go right. Take out anyone who gets in your way, but don't get shot, or you're out. Got it?"

The red bandanas on their arms mark them as prey to the opposing team, but their goal is simple: capture as many blue flags as possible while avoiding detection. Mikasa’s grip tightens on her arm, nerves prickling.

Armin speaks up, "Eren's gonna figure out what we're doing and come for us. We need to stay ahead of him."

"You know Eren better than any of us," Jean says. "Can we beat him?"

Armin shakes his head. "No."

Jean frowns and Sasha snorts.

"Then we should go for the flags directly," Mikasa says. "I mean if he's going to take us out, we might as well gather a lot of flags before then."

Armin jogs closer to her side, his breaths controlled. “I spotted a small group of them heading west earlier. They're probably the ones guarding the base. We'll need to outmaneuver them.”

Mikasa doesn’t respond. She clenches her jaw and refocuses.

"Let's go," Sasha says.

The four of them move quickly into the forest, their steps muffled by the soft ground. Mikasa takes point, her sharp eyes scanning the terrain for movement. They move through the trees and the faint shouts and laughter of the opposing team echoes in the distance. Mikasa feels the rush of adrenaline, as they move deeper into enemy territory.

“Do you think Connie is looking for us?” Sasha whispers, her voice barely audible as she peers around a thick oak tree.

"Over there," Armin hisses before Mikasa can respond. He points toward a flash of blue in the distance. It's one of the opposing team members, crouched low near a flag.

Mikasa signals for silence, raising her paint gun. The four of them spread out. Jean gestures for Mikasa to take the shot, and she nods, creeping closer.

The blue team member doesn't see her coming. Swiftly, Mikasa takes aim and fires, the paintball splattering across the kid's chest.

“Gotcha,” she murmurs as the kid groans in defeat, raising their hands.

Sasha darts forward to grab the flag, waving it triumphantly as they retreat further into the forest. “One down!”

The team presses on, moving through the trees and capturing more flags. Each encounter feels like a miniature battle.

At one point, they hear voices nearby—Connie and someone else, laughing and talking. Jean motions for them to crouch low, and the group huddles behind a cluster of bushes.

“They’re heading toward our base,” Armin whispers.

Sasha prepares her gun and starts to creep forward, but Jean grabs her arm, stopping her.

"Wait," he hisses. "What are you doing?"

She raises a brow. "You think I'm going to lose the opportunity to shoot Connie?"

Before anyone can stop her, she charges, darting out from behind the bushes.

"Hey Connie!" she shouts, her voice echoing through the trees.

The sound of Connie yelping in surprise follows. "Oh come on!"

Connie's partner aims at Sasha but she ducks, the paintball whizzing past her head. She fires back, hitting the opponent square in the chest.

Mikasa emerges from the bushes, her paintball gun poised to fire. She spots Connie and his partner scrambling, their eyes wide. She grins. "You got them both," she says to Sasha. "Nice."

"And we found a flag," Armin says, pulling out a flag from where it's stuck in a bush.

"Let's keep moving!" Jean urges.

Leaving Connie behind, they hustle deeper into the woods. The forest seems to come alive around them—the crunch of leaves underfoot, the distant shouts of their opponents, the occasional splat of paintballs hitting trees.

Jean suddenly halts, holding up a hand. “Wait. I hear something.”

They all freeze, listening intently. Mikasa grips her paint gun tightly. It sounds like…

…water.

The sound of rushing water grows louder as Jean signals for the group to follow him. They move through the dense forest, breaking into a small clearing. Before them lies a shimmering lake, its surface glittering in the dappled sunlight. At the far end, a waterfall cascades into the lake. Rising above the water near the waterfall is a jagged, rocky cliff, and at the very top flutters a bright red flag.

Jean exhales sharply, shielding his eyes from the sun as he stares at the flag. “That’s a risky one. Probably why no one’s gone for it yet.”

Mikasa agrees. It’s high, slippery, and completely out in the open. Whoever tries is a sitting duck.

She’s going to do it.

Mikasa’s eyes narrow. “I’m going to get it.”

Armin frowns. “Mikasa, I’m not saying you’re wrong, but we’ve already got a good number of flags. Do we really need that one?”

Jean crosses his arms. “He’s right. It’s a good haul, but if you get taken out while climbing, it’ll be for nothing.”

Mikasa’s already removing her boots. “We’ll never win without taking chances,” she says. “I’ll go alone. Cover me from here.”

Jean groans, muttering something under his breath about stubbornness, but he doesn’t stop her. Sasha and Armin exchange uneasy glances but nod in reluctant agreement.

Mikasa steps into the lake, the cold water biting at her skin as she wades in. The lake deepens quickly, and soon she’s swimming. The roar of the waterfall grows louder with each stroke, and the cliff looms closer, its rough surface glistening with spray.

Reaching the base of the cliff, Mikasa hoists herself out of the water, her damp clothes clinging to her. She slings her paint gun securely across her back, her sharp eyes scanning the rock for handholds. The cliff is steep, with jagged edges and moss-covered patches, but she doesn’t hesitate.

Hand over hand, she begins to climb, her muscles straining as she pulls herself upward. The air is cooler here, mist from the waterfall clinging to her skin. The rocks are slippery, but Mikasa is able to find her footing.

When she’s halfway up, a shout from below makes her pause. She twists her head to see Jean scrambling for cover as a splatter of blue paint hits the tree beside him. Sasha and Armin react quickly, raising their guns, but the attacker is faster.

Eren emerges from the trees, his paint gun pointed at the group. His hair falls into his eyes, damp with sweat and his eyes are narrowed. Jean fires first, but Eren sidesteps with ease, rolling behind a fallen log before returning fire.

A paintball splashes across Jean’s chest.

“Dammit!” Jean shouts, throwing his hands up in defeat as he steps back.

Sasha ducks behind a tree, but that only buys her a few seconds. She peeks out to fire, but Eren anticipates the move, hitting her squarely in the shoulder with a well-placed shot.

“Seriously?!” Sasha groans, dropping her gun and holding up her hands.

Armin is the last one standing. His face is pale as he steadies his aim. He fires three shots in quick succession, forcing Eren to dart behind another tree. For a moment, it seems like Armin has the upper hand.

But then Eren charges, closing the distance. He fires twice, and blue paint splatters across Armin’s chest and arm.

Armin sighs, lowering his gun in resignation.

From her perch on the cliff, Mikasa’s heart races as she watches Eren take down her team. He looks up then, his green eyes locking onto hers.

Mikasa swallows hard, her grip tightening on the rock as she resumes climbing, her pace quickening. No. She won’t let him win.

Eren moves toward the lake, his paint gun slung lazily across his chest as he watches her. “You’d better hurry,” he calls up.

Mikasa doesn’t respond, as she pushes herself harder. The flag is just within reach, but so is Eren. As she nears the top, the roar of the waterfall turns into thunder in her ears. Her heart races. She can see the flag now, bright red. Just a few more feet…

Mikasa’s hand closes around the flag, the coarse fabric rough against her palm. She yanks it free from its post and straightens, her chest heaving as she steadies herself at the edge of the rocky cliff.

Below, Eren stares up at her. “You got it!” he calls out. “Let’s see if you can hold onto it.”

He raises his paint gun slowly and takes aim.

Mikasa’s instincts kick in. She ducks low, feeling the rush of air as a paintball whizzes just above her head.

What the hell?

He’s going to shoot her from all the way over there?

“Mikasa!” Armin’s voice calls out from behind a tree as he tries to catch his breath. “Get down!”

Eren’s finger shifts on the trigger, and Mikasa instinctively takes a step back, searching for a way down that won’t leave her exposed. Her foot slips slightly on the slick rock, and she glances over her shoulder to find an alternate route. The cliff face is steep, and the lake below is seep and dark.

Eren fires again. The paintball splats against the rock below her.

“Are you serious?” Mikasa yells.

He doesn’t respond.

She backs away, her mind racing. The only way out is down.

But then her foot catches on a loose stone, and before she can regain her balance, the ground gives way beneath her. She screams and plummets backward, the flag slipping from her grasp as she falls.

The cold water hits her like a punch, forcing the air from her lungs. Her world tilts and spins as she’s dragged under, the roar of the waterfall muffling everything else. She struggles to move.

And then the world goes quiet.

Mikasa opens her eyes to find herself standing in a vast, sunlit field. The grass stretches endlessly in every direction, a sea of green swaying gently in the breeze. The sky is a brilliant blue, unmarred by clouds, and the air is warm against her skin.

Her heart pounds in her chest. Where is she?

A familiar tree rises in the distance, its massive branches casting a wide circle of shade on the ground below. She takes a step forward, her feet moving of their own accord.

As she approaches, the figure of a boy comes into focus, lying on the ground with his back propped against the trunk of the tree. His dark hair is tousled, and his face is serene, almost peaceful.

“Eren,” she breathes, the name slipping from her lips without thought.

She moves closer. He’s much younger but he looks…familiar. Kneeling beside him, she reaches out a hand and touches his shoulder.

“Eren,” she says again, her voice trembling.

What's going on? Why is she seeing this? And what is he wearing?

His eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep. He blinks up at her, confusion flickering across his face before his gaze sharpens.

“It’ll get dark if we don’t go home now,” she says.

Home?

“Huh? Mikasa…” His voice is soft, almost disbelieving. “Aww, when did your hair get so long…?”

A strange ache blooms in her chest. She stands and turns around. “Were you really so sound asleep that you were still dreaming when you woke up?” she asks, her words catching in her throat.

Eren stands up slowly, rubbing his eyes. The peaceful field stretches endlessly around them, and for a moment, he seems just as lost as she feels.

“No…But I feel like I just had the longest dream…” he murmurs, his brow furrowing. “What was it? Now, I can’t remember…”

Mikasa glances at him and her eyes widen. “Eren?” she whispers. “Why…are you crying?”

His teary eyes meet hers, and for a moment, they’re filled with too many emotions—sadness, longing, regret.

The field begins to fade, the colors bleeding away like ink in water. The warmth of the sun is replaced by a cold, relentless pull, and Mikasa’s vision blurs as the world tilts once more.

She gasps, her lungs burning as she’s dragged back into the present. Water surrounds her, and she claws her way to the surface. Breaking through, she gulps in air, coughing and spluttering as the roar of the waterfall fills her ears.

Eren’s voice cuts through the noise. “Mikasa! Mikasa, wake up!”

She blinks, disoriented, as strong hands grip her arms and pull her from the water. She collapses onto the rocky shore, shivering and gasping for breath.

Jean, Sasha, and Armin hurry over to her. Eren kneels beside her, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear. “Please, please, please,” he mutters. “I'm sorry. Wake up.”

Mikasa stares at him, her heart still racing from the vision. That wasn’t just a hallucination. It didn’t feel like one. That felt like…a memory. “Eren,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

He doesn’t seem to hear her. His hands tighten on her shoulders. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he says, his voice breaking. “I can’t lose you. Not again.”

Mikasa blinks. Not Again?

Chapter Text

“Mikasa, are you okay?” Mikasa hears Sasha say as Eren helps her stand. She coughs. Water spills from her lips and her eyes squint at the figures around her.

“You idiot!”

Jean’s fist connects with Eren’s jaw before anyone can stop him. The thud is sickening, and Eren stumbles back, barely bracing himself against the impact.

“Jean, stop!” Armin yells, rushing forward to grab Jean’s arm.

“She could’ve gotten hurt!” Jean roars, shrugging Armin off and diving at Eren again.

Connie joins the fray, wrapping his arms around Jean’s waist. “Chill, man! It was an accident!”

But Jean throws another punch that grazes Eren’s cheek. Eren doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even raise a hand in defense. Instead, his eyes stay focused on Mikasa, scanning her as Sasha steadies her.

“Are you okay?” Eren asks, ignoring Jean’s struggling form as Connie and Armin finally manage to pull him back. His voice is soft.

Why were you crying?

Mikasa nods, coughing a little more as Sasha pats her back. “I’m fine,” she says, though her voice is hoarse.

That’s not enough for Eren. He steps closer, brushing past the others like they aren’t even there. His hands come up, cupping her face gently. His thumbs brush along her cheekbones as he tilts her head up, searching her eyes. “Look at me,” he murmurs. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Mikasa’s breath hitches. His face is close, too close, and she can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, the faint scruff on his jaw. Her heart stutters under the way his touch burns against her skin despite the chill in the air.

The vision.

It hadn’t been just a hallucination. She’s sure of it now. Hallucinations don’t leave imprints this sharp or emotions this raw. Then what was it?

“Mikasa,” he says, and she blinks.

Why is he staring at her like that? Like she’s more than just a schoolmate, a girl he’s forced to train.

“I’m fine,” she repeats, her voice clearer this time. She feels her chest tighten, though she can’t decide if it’s from the fall or the way he stares at her.

Have we met before? She wants to ask.

She pulls away from his hold and moves toward Sasha, who is adjusting her vest. Mikasa crouches slightly, pretending to steady herself, but her hand grazes Sasha’s holster. The paint pistol slides out with ease.

Eren hasn’t taken his eyes off her, even as she straightens. His lips part as if to say something, but then he turns away, glaring at Jean. Armin hurries over to him and the tension flares again as Jean’s glare hardens.

“You’re a crazy bastard, you know that right?” Jean barks, his fists clenching.

Eren’s jaw tightens. “The next time you raise those hands at me, I’ll break them.”

“Guys,” Connie interjects hastily, still holding onto Jean’s arm. “We’re supposed to be having fun out here, not—

Pop!

A bright splotch of paint bursts across Eren’s back. Eren freezes. There’s a streak of blue paint blooming on the back of his shirt. Slowly, he turns to face Mikasa, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Mikasa,” Armin breathes, his voice filled with disbelief.

Mikasa lowers the pistol, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re out.”

Eren blinks, then laughs and the sound sends butterflies through Mikasa’s stomach. “Sneaky,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll give you that. Good game, Ackerman.”

Connie bursts out laughing, and Sasha looks impressed. Even Jean grins begrudgingly.

Eren’s eyes light up. “See you back at camp,” he says and with that, he turns and walks away, heading toward the trees with Armin trailing right behind him.

Mikasa watches him go, a strange warmth spreading through her chest.

“Wow,” Sasha says as she watches them. “I just realized this is the first time I’ve ever heard Eren Yeager laugh.”

Team Red wins.

Later that night, the campfire crackles brightly with a circle of campers seated around it. The air is filled with the smell of roasted marshmallows and the sounds of laughter as Team Red celebrates their victory.

Marco beams proudly, the silver medal hanging from his neck glinting in the firelight.

“They didn’t stand a chance,” he says, his voice filled with pride.

Mikasa sits on a log near Jean and Sasha, her own medal cool against her chest. The heat of the fire does little to warm her as her eyes drift to Eren. He’s seated a few places away. Beside him, Historia fiddles with her medal. There's a detached look in her eyes.

They don’t speak to each other.

Mikasa shifts uncomfortably. Why does it bother me so much? she wonders, her fingers brushing the edge of her medal.

Eren stands. Without a word, he moves toward the woods. Historia’s gaze briefly flickers toward him, but she stays put.

Mikasa hesitates, watching him disappear into the trees. Her body moves before her mind can catch up, and she follows.

She needs to ask him. She needs to know.

Have we met before?

The forest is darker than she expected, the light from the fire quickly fading behind her. The sounds of the camp grow muffled, replaced by the chirping of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves. She picks her way over uneven ground, the cool air brushing against her skin.

Her steps falter when she realizes she’s lost sight of him. The stillness of the woods presses in around her, and a prickle of unease creeps up her spine.

That feeling again.

She's being watched.

The sensation feels suffocating. She glances around, but the shadows reveal nothing. She’s about to turn back when a strong hand grabs her arm and pulls her back sharply. Before she can cry out, her back hits the rough bark of a tree.

Eren’s face is inches from hers, his hand pinning her shoulder. “Why are you following me?”

Her breath catches. The sudden closeness, the heat radiating from him, leaves her momentarily speechless. She regains her composure. “I just—”

“You just what?” His lips quirk into a humorless smile.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” she says. “For helping me with the fight against Annie.”

His hold on her loosens. She shifts slightly, her chest brushing against his arm. Eren’s eyes drop to the medal hanging from her neck, and he reaches out, catching it between his fingers.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

“Eren.” She swallows, her next words shaky. “When you pulled me out of the water earlier…you said you didn’t want to lose me again. What did you mean?”

His fingers freeze on the medal. For a moment, she swears something flashes in his eyes.

“I didn’t say that,” he replies.

“You did,” Mikasa insists. “I heard you.”

He drops the medal, letting it fall back against her chest. “You must have heard wrong,” he says, stepping back.

“Eren—”

“Go back to the camp, Mikasa,” he interrupts. Then, without another word, he turns and disappears into the shadows, leaving her alone beneath the canopy of trees.

The forest seems colder now.

The line of students snakes through the clearing as they wait to board the buses back to school. Eren sees Erwin standing at the edge of the line, clipboard in hand, his eyes scanning the crowd. The camp’s final day is winding down and for him, it’s the start of something else entirely.

The principal spots him and Historia lingering near the treeline and strides over, casual enough not to draw attention. When he reaches them, his voice is low. “Everything’s ready,” he says, handing Eren a small, rusted key.

Eren turns it over in his palm, glancing up at Erwin. “Where exactly is it?”

“Just past the old trail to the east. You’ll see it tucked behind the thicket.” Erwin’s eyes flicker to the line of students before settling back on Eren. “It’ll get you through the backroads unnoticed. I’ll make sure no one asks questions here.”

Next to Eren, Historia nods. Erwin’s gaze lingers on her for a moment, before he steps back.

“Move quickly,” he adds, then turns on his heel and walks back toward the group.

Eren looks at Historia, her blue eyes fixed on the line of students. She’s not just watching the group; her focus is pinpointed on someone. Eren follows her gaze and sees Ymir near the back of the line, her hands stuffed in her pockets.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asks.

Historia stiffens, her jaw tightening. She doesn’t look at him, when she says, “Let’s just go.”

Eren doesn’t press further. He falls into step beside her as they slip into the shadows of the forest.

The walk is short and the sound of their footsteps is muffled by the thick carpet of pine needles. The woods are quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Eren keeps his eyes on the path, the key in his grip, while Historia remains silent beside him.

When they reach the truck, it’s exactly where Erwin said it would be—hidden behind a dense thicket of branches. The vehicle is old but sturdy, its navy-blue paint scratched and dulled by years of wear. A layer of dust clings to the windows, and the rear bed is empty save for a few scattered tools.

If there’s one thing Eren appreciates when it comes to his partnership with Erwin, it’s the man’s ability to pull out resources.

Eren unlocks the driver’s door and the hinges creak as it swings open. He climbs in and the worn leather seat groans under his weight. The smell of oil and earth fills the cab.

Historia circles to the passenger side and hesitates for a moment before opening the door and slipping inside. She pulls her seatbelt across her chest. Eren glances at her as he turns the key in the ignition. The engine sputters once before roaring to life, the sound echoing through the stillness of the forest.

“First stop is the old church in the borderlands,” Historia says.

Eren grips the wheel as he pulls out of the thicket. The tires crunch against the gravel, and a chill runs through the air, making her shiver despite the warmth inside the truck.

“Do you think we’ll find anything there?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly, his eyes fixed ahead on the winding road. “But we don’t have a choice.”

The drive lasts for close to an hour. Then the winding roads begin to grow rougher the closer they get to the borderlands. The dense forest begins to give way to open fields dotted with small, weathered cottages and the occasional patch of farmland. The air feels different out here—quieter, heavier.

Historia sits quietly in the passenger seat, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the dusty window. After a stretch of silence, she speaks.

“Back at the estate, there was a library. It was locked most of the time, but I found ways to sneak in when no one was watching. There were shelves filled with old records about Eldia’s history, things you wouldn’t find anywhere else. The borderlands were mentioned a lot in the early texts, especially about the royal family’s efforts to establish control through religion.”

Eren glances at her briefly, his brow furrowing. “Control through religion?”

Historia nods. “It wasn’t just about faith. It was strategy. The Reiss family claimed they had the divine right to rule, said they were chosen by the creator himself. They built churches like the one we’re heading to as symbols of power. The people believed the royal family could speak directly to the creator… that we were their bridge to something greater.”

Eren lets that sink in, his hands tightening slightly on the wheel. “That explains why so many of the places on your list are churches.”

Historia doesn’t reply immediately, her gaze shifting out the window as they enter a small village. It’s eerily quiet, with only a handful of people milling about. What catches Eren’s eye, however, are the statues. Weathered by time, they stand in small clearings, their features just recognizable enough to make out proud faces.

“What’s with the statues?” he asks, nodding toward one as they pass.

“Those are my ancestors,” Historia says. “Each one ruled in their time, overseeing certain parts of Eldia and shaping its destiny. They were worshipped, feared… and sometimes hated. The Reiss family tied its bloodline to religious doctrine so tightly that even after their downfall, these statues remained.”

Eren exhales sharply. “So they were gods?"

“gods’ is a stretch,” Historia says bitterly. “But they made sure people thought we were untouchable.”

The truck rolls to a stop as they reach the edge of the village, where a crumbling church stands at the end of a gravel path. The building is a shell of its former glory, its roof sagging, and its stone walls weathered and cracked. Vines creep up its sides, and stained glass windows, now mostly shattered, catch the late afternoon light in fractured rainbows.

Eren kills the engine, and silence follows. Both of them step out, their boots crunching against the gravel. For a moment, they simply stare at the church, its broken spire piercing the sky.

“It’s… something,” Historia says finally.

Eren glances at her. “It’s a ruin.”

Without another word, they step forward together.

The church doors creak as Eren pushes them open. The interior is dim, lit only by the fractured light streaming through the broken stained-glass windows. Dust particles dance in the beams and the air smells of mildew and damp stone.

Inside, the nave is barren. Rows of pews are either missing or reduced to splintered remains. The altar at the far end is little more than a cracked slab of marble, its surface streaked with dirt and grime. Tattered banners hang limply from the walls, and the ceiling reveals patches of the darkening sky above.

Eren steps forward cautiously, his boots crunching against debris scattered across the stone floor. Historia follows, her eyes scanning every corner of the cavernous space, but there’s nothing—no signs of life.

“This place is dead,” Eren mutters. “We’re not going to find anything here.”

Historia doesn’t respond immediately. Her gaze lingers on the broken altar and something—disappointment? Frustration?—crosses her face. “It would not have been on the list if my father wasn’t using it for something.”

Before Eren can reply, a sound cuts through the silence—a scream.

Feminine.

It echoes through the empty church, chilling the air and sending a jolt down their spines.

Eren and Historia freeze, their eyes snapping toward the direction of the sound. It seems to come from somewhere deeper within the church, past the shadows and the debris. Eren’s hand instinctively moves toward the knife at his side, his jaw tightening.

“What was that?” Historia whispers.

“I don’t know,” Eren says, already moving toward the source of the noise. His eyes dart around the dim space, searching for movement.

Just as they start to head toward the sound, another voice stops them cold.

“Hello Travelers,” it says. “Welcome.”

Chapter Text

The hairs at the back of Eren’s head stand up.

The words are calm, even pleasant, but they come from a place they hadn’t been looking—directly behind them.

Eren spins around, and Historia follows suit. Standing near the entrance is a man clad in a long, dark robe, the fabric pooling at his feet in heavy folds. His posture is relaxed, his hands clasped in front of him.

“Who are you?” Historia demands.

The man smiles faintly, his head tilting ever so slightly. “A servant of the faith,” he says. “And the caretaker of this place. You’re a bit far from home, aren’t you?”

Eren and Historia exchange a wary glance. The man doesn’t seem hostile, but there’s something about him…

The man’s smile widens, just enough to unsettle. “If I may ask, why are you here?”

Eren steps slightly in front of Historia. “We’re just travelers,” he says with a small smile. “We wandered off the main road and stumbled across this place. Thought it might be a good spot to rest.” He gestures toward the empty church with a faint shrug. “Didn’t mean to intrude.”

The man watches them for a moment. Then he smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Travelers, you say?”

Eren nods.

“We heard something,” Historia says. “A scream. What was that?”

The man tilts his head. “Probably just the wind,” he replies.

Historia’s brow furrows, her lips parting to protest. “But we did hear—”

“It must’ve been a mistake,” Eren interrupts smoothly, his grip tightening subtly around her wrist. He flashes the man a tight smile. “We’ll be on our way.”

Before the man can respond, Eren tugs Historia’s hand and takes a step forward. But the moment they move, figures emerge from the shadows. Six men, all clad in dark robes similar to the priest’s, step out from behind columns and crumbling walls.

The priest’s smile widens. “I’ll ask again,” he says, his voice dropping into a tone far more menacing. “Why are you here?”

Eren turns back to the man, his jaw tightening. He quickly pulls Historia behind him, shielding her with his body. “Stay back,” he mutters.

Historia yanks her hand free and steps up beside him. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps. “Did you forget how I almost gave you a run for your money back at the dance?”

Eren snorts faintly despite himself, but there’s no time for a retort. The first man lunges forward, his fist swinging toward Eren.

Eren ducks swiftly, driving his shoulder into the man’s stomach and throwing him off balance. The attacker stumbles back, but another is already rushing at them. Historia moves, stepping into the man’s path and landing a solid kick to his knee. He crumples, hissing in pain.

“Not bad,” Eren mutters, spinning to block a punch from a third man. His counterstrike is quick and brutal—a sharp uppercut that sends the attacker sprawling.

The remaining three men close in, two on Eren and one on Historia. Eren deflects the first easily, twisting the man’s arm and slamming him into a broken pew. The second catches him off guard with a kick to the ribs, but Eren absorbs the hit and retaliates with a powerful elbow to the jaw.

Historia, meanwhile, squares off with her opponent. He towers over her, but she’s quick, ducking his swings and delivering a sharp jab to his throat. When he recoils, she follows up with a knee to his stomach, sending him to the ground.

Eren finishes his second opponent with a swift kick to the chest, sending the man crashing into a pile of rubble. He straightens, breathing hard, and glances around. The six attackers are sprawled across the church floor, groaning or unconscious.

Historia brushes her hair out of her face, her chest rising and falling as she catches her breath. “That all of them?” she asks, glancing at Eren.

He nods, scanning the room. “Where’s the priest?”

They exchange a look. The priest is nowhere to be seen.

“Do you think we should leave?” Historia asks.

“We came here for answers,” Eren says. “And we’re getting them.”

Plus, there were probably people in danger.

They begin to move deeper into the crumbling church, their footsteps muffled by the worn stone floors. Shadows stretch along the walls, the air is laced with the faint scent of mildew and decay and, the distant sound of water dripping echoes through the silence. They pass through an archway, the remnants of a door barely hanging on its hinges.

Historia walks close to Eren, her eyes darting to every shadow. “This place feels... wrong,” she mutters.

Eren glances at her but says nothing. Then, a distant yell reaches their ears—a sharp, guttural cry from somewhere deep within the church.

“Someone’s here,” Historia whispers.

Eren holds up a hand, signaling her to be quiet. They edge toward the sound, moving as silently as possible. As they round a corner, they see flickering torchlight spilling from a room at the end of the hallway.

Eren pulls Historia behind a crumbling pillar, peeking around the edge. He spots the priest pacing in the room, gesturing angrily to several men.

“They’re talking about us,” Historia whispers, leaning close.

Eren nods. “Stay low.”

They creep closer, pressing themselves to the wall outside the room. The priest’s voice rises above the others. “Where are they all coming from?” he snarls. “Fools, all of you! Search this place for any more intruders and kill them.”

Eren and Historia exchange a glance. Before they can decide their next move, heavy footsteps echo from behind them. Eren spins just as two men appear at the other end of the hallway, their expressions hardening when they see the intruders.

“Go!” Eren hisses, shoving Historia toward the archway.

They bolt, the men chasing after them. Eren twists sharply, pulling Historia into an alcove just as one of the pursuers swings a heavy club. The weapon smashes into the stone wall, sending chips flying.

Eren doesn’t hesitate. He surges forward, grabbing the man’s arm and wrenching it painfully. The attacker yells, and Eren finishes him with a brutal punch to the jaw. Historia ducks under the second man’s swing, using his momentum to shove him into the wall.

“Keep moving!” Eren orders, and they take off again.

They burst into the room where the priest had been moments before, but now only he remains. He’s standing near an altar, glaring at them with barely contained fury.

“You’re persistent,” he spits. “No matter. You won’t leave here alive.”

Eren steps forward, his fists clenched. “We’ll see about that.”

Before Eren can get close, the priest grabs someone from the shadows and pulls them into the light. The figure stumbles, struggling weakly, and then the glint of a blade catches Eren’s eye.

“Don’t move,” the priest warns, pressing the knife to his captive’s throat.

Eren freezes, his breath catching. The light falls across the captive’s face. His stomach drops.

“Armin?”

HOURS BEFORE

Armin pushes the heavy tarp off his chest, gasping as the stale air under it dissipates. The coarse fabric scratches against his hands, and he takes a deep breath. His heart pounds in his chest, his mind still spinning with everything he’s learned. The truck sways slightly beneath him as he sits up, his head brushing against a wooden crate in the confined space of the truck bed.

He glances around. Where is he? His eyes fall on the towering silhouette of the church, its crumbling spire reaching into the evening sky.

Armin’s fingers tighten on the edge of the truck as the memories flood back. He remembers Erwin’s tent, remembers the muffled voices.

“On the last day of camp, I’ll prepare a truck,” Erwin had said. “You two will be out of sight before anyone notices.”

Armin had crouched low, holding his breath to avoid detection, as he strained to catch every word.

Eren’s voice had followed. “So we’re going to the church in the borderlands first?”

“Yes,” Erwin had replied. “But you need to move discreetly. This means you can’t cause a scene when you’re there. If anyone catches wind of this…”

Armin takes a deep breath. He had followed Erwin that morning, had seen him near the truck. The tarp in the truck bed had been loose. Without thinking, Armin had crept under it, his heart racing. He didn’t know why he had done it, not entirely. But he had a burning need to know more, to understand what was going on.

Now, sitting in the truck bed, he knows too much and yet not enough. Historia had mentioned someone named Frieda—and they were here to find her. Sliding to the edge of the truck bed, he jumps down, his boots crunching on the gravel below. He straightens and looks toward the church again. It’s older than he expected and he notices grotesque carvings along the walls—grimacing faces and twisted figures that seem to stare back at him.

He moves carefully along the side of the church, keeping low. Ivy snakes up the walls, clinging to the cracked stone. As he rounds a corner, he spots a small, weathered door tucked into the shadows.

Armin hesitates. His breathing is shallow, and his palms are damp. He shouldn’t be here. He knows that. But if he doesn’t understand what Eren is doing, if he doesn’t see it for himself, it’ll eat away at him.

He pushes the door open with trembling hands, wincing at the groan of rusted hinges. Inside, there are torches glowing faintly. The smell of damp stone and old wood fills his nostrils as he steps inside.

Armin begins to move quietly through the halls of the church, his every sense on high alert. The shadows seem to shift with the torches, casting unsettling shapes on the cracked stone walls. His breath is shallow, his heart pounding so loudly he’s certain someone will hear it.

He peers around a corner and freezes. Two men are standing a short distance away.

“There are strangers in the church,” one of them says, his tone clipped. “They could be dangerous. We need to move fast before anyone else shows up.”

Armin’s stomach twists. They’re talking about Eren and Historia.

The second man’s voice is gruff. “What about the girls?”

“Prepare to move them,” the first man replies. “We’re not taking chances. We don’t know who’s coming next.”

Armin presses himself against the cold wall, his mind racing. His palms are damp as he grips the edges of his jacket. What do I do? The urge to run, to warn Eren and Historia, battles with the sickening realization that he’s alone, unarmed, and entirely unprepared.

The men’s voices fade as they walk deeper into the church, their boots echoing on the stone floor. Armin waits, counting his breaths until he’s sure they’re gone. Slowly, he steps out from his hiding spot, his legs trembling beneath him.

The hallway stretches before him, narrowing as it dips into darkness. He keeps to the edges, moving silently, his hand brushing against the rough, cold stone for balance. The air grows heavier the deeper he goes, carrying a faint but distinct scent of mildew and something metallic.

Blood.

A sound makes him freeze. It’s faint at first, like a muffled sob, but it grows louder as he moves cautiously forward. The crying is coming from somewhere below. Armin follows it, his footsteps careful on the uneven floor, until he reaches a narrow staircase descending into the earth.

He glances behind him. Then he takes a deep breath and begins to walk. The staircase twists downward and Armin’s pulse quickens with every step. The sobs grow clearer until he can make out voices—soft, pleading whispers beneath the cries.

Someone is praying.

At the bottom, he finds himself in a dungeon. The space is cramped, the air stale and suffocating. There are more torches. They flicker weakly in iron sconces, creating a glow over the rows of iron-barred cells.

In one of the cells, a woman sees him and rushes to the bars. Her face is pale and drawn, her eyes wide with desperation.

“Please,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “You have to help us. Please, call for help. Get someone! Get anyone!”

Armin swallows hard, his gaze darting to the other figures in the cell. There are five of them in total—three young women in torn and dirty clothes, and two children who can’t be older than twelve. The youngest, a girl with tear-streaked cheeks, clings to one of the women, her small frame trembling.

Armin’s chest tightens as he takes it all in. The fear in their eyes, the hopelessness etched into their faces. He glances back at the woman pleading with him, his voice shaky as he says, “I’ll help you. I promise. Just… wait here. I’ll go to the village and—”

The woman steps back abruptly, her eyes widening in terror.

Before Armin can turn, something hard slams into the back of his head. Pain explodes through his skull, and his vision blurs as he collapses to the ground.

Chapter Text

Liar.

Eren Yeager is a liar.

The sound of gravel crunching underfoot echoes in the air as Mikasa walks toward the male dorms. She wraps her arms around herself and takes a deep breath.

Liar.

He’s a liar.

Mikasa doesn't believe in ghosts or fate or whatever cosmic force people like to pin the inexplicable on. But she’s starting to doubt herself. The visions, Eren’s strange denial, the way he looked at her like she was imagining things—it all twists her insides. She can’t just let it go. She needs to prove it, one way or another.

She’s not crazy.

That’s why she’s here, standing in front of Eren’s dorm building, debating her next move.

The sun is low, painting the campus in warm tones as students wander to and from the dorms. Mikasa crosses her arms, her knuckles tight against her skin. She tells herself it’s because of the breeze, not her nerves. She’s about to step inside when Connie strolls out, a bag of chips in hand, crunching away.

When he sees her, he pauses, eyebrows lifting and, chips mid-air. “Yo, Mikasa. What’s up?”

Mikasa swallows and glances around. “I’m looking for Eren. Can you check if he’s in?”

Connie’s mouth quirks into a grin. “You’re looking for Eren? Should I be jealous?” he asks, wiggling his brows.

Mikasa fixes him with a flat look. “Can you please just go check?”

“Alright, alright.” Connie tosses the rest of the chips in his mouth and jogs back inside, saluting her as he goes.

Mikasa lingers by the dorm’s entrance, leaning against the cool brick wall. She tells herself she’s just waiting, but her mind is already racing. Why did he deny it? Why did he lie?

What did he mean by “again?”

Minutes stretch on, and she kicks at the gravel impatiently. Finally, Connie reappears, bounding down the steps.

“Bad news,” he says, shrugging. “He’s not there. Neither is Armin. Pretty weird, right? Everyone’s supposed to be dead tired after camp.”

Mikasa frowns. That is strange. “Thanks,” she mutters, already turning away.

Connie calls after her, "You sure you’re okay?"

She doesn’t answer, her feet carrying her toward the gym.

The school gym sits at the far edge of campus, a squat building with wide glass windows that glint dully in the setting sun. It’s not closed so Mikasa steps through the doors, her footsteps echoing against the polished floors.

The air smells faintly of sweat and disinfectant. She glances around. The rows of machines. The mats and equipment seem untouched, as if no one’s been here for hours.

Her heart sinks a little. She was sure Eren would be here. He always shows up, even on rest days.

What if he’s with Historia?

Mikasa blinks. She didn’t even think of that. Of course, he would be with his girlfriend. She shakes her head.

Mikasa steps deeper into the gym, her gaze darting toward the punching bags in the corner. They’re still, their shadows stretching long against the wall. Her hands clench at her sides as her feet carry her toward the locker room. The door creaks as she pushes it open. Inside, it’s just as quiet, the tiled walls reflecting the fluorescent lightsabove. Benches line the room, a few scattered towels and bags left behind from last week.

She sinks onto a bench, resting her elbows on her knees and burying her face in her hands. Her mind races. What is she even trying to prove? That she can will herself into another vision? That being near Eren will somehow force the truth out of the shadows?

Mikasa’s fingers tangle in her hair, gripping tightly. Her breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling as if she’s just sprinted miles.

Am I losing my mind?

The question gnaws at her, burrowing deeper with every beat of her racing heart. These visions. They seize her and throw her into a world that feels more real than the one she sits in now. She shuts her eyes tightly, trying to block out everything: the gym, her thoughts, the gnawing fear curling in her stomach.

But the images don’t leave her.

Instead, they sharpen. She’s no longer in the gym. She’s outside, under an ashen sky, the chill of the air biting at her skin. Eren stands in front of her, his lips pressed into a thin line, his green eyes piercing as if they see straight through her. Her chest tightens. His hands reach toward her, holding a scarf. She doesn’t know why, but she’s trembling.

The scarf slips around her neck, like a shield against the cold world around her. His hands linger for a moment, brushing her skin, and her heart aches in a way she can’t explain. It’s as if everything—her fear, her doubts, her very soul—rests in that small gesture. Tears spill down her cheeks. She doesn’t wipe them away. They fall freely.

She doesn’t want to let go.

The vision fractures, crumbling like glass. She gasps sharply and opens her eyes. The gym rushes back into focus—its cold light, its hollow silence. Her hands fall to her lap, trembling slightly, as her body works to catch up with her mind.

Her scarf isn’t there. She reaches for her neck instinctively, only to find bare skin. But the sensation—the way it had felt to have it draped around her, the safety—lingers.

Her heart pounds so loudly it drowns out the rest of the world. She places a hand over her chest. Her breaths come shallow and uneven, but she forces herself to take a long, shaky inhale. Then another.

“That was real,” she whispers to the empty room.

She’s not going crazy.

Eren’s gaze flickers between Armin and the priest, his jaw tightening as the knife lingers threateningly near his friend’s neck. What is he doing here? How did he get here?

“Put down your weapons,” the priest orders.

Eren doesn’t move. His fingers twitch on the hilt of his blade, his mind racing for options, but every scenario ends with blood—too much blood, too much risk. He clicks his tongue in frustration. Then he drops his knife, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. “You’re making a mistake,” he says.

“Am I?” The priest smirks, pressing the blade harder against Armin’s throat, eliciting a whimper from him. “The girl too.”

Eren glances back at Historia, who has her eyes locked on Armin. Her hands visibly tremble as she lowers her weapons to the floor.

“There,” the priest says. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His eyes flick to one of his guards. “Secure them.”

Two more men emerge from the shadows. One grabs Historia roughly by the arm, forcing her to her knees. She winces but doesn’t cry out. The priest shoves Armin forward and another guard pulls him roughly to the side.

Eren makes a mental note to break his hand later, to break both their hands.

The priest steps forward, brushing the dirt from his worn robes. “Well then,” he drawls, clasping his hands behind his back. He faces Eren. “Let’s begin. You seem like the leader here. If you don’t want your friends to meet an untimely end, I suggest you answer my questions. Honestly.”

Eren doesn’t flinch under the scrutiny. His pulse roars in his ears, but outwardly, he keeps his voice calm.

“Let him go,” he says coldly, nodding toward Armin. “And maybe I’ll consider talking.”

The priest chuckles, a low, humorless sound that sends a shiver through the room. “Ah, you misunderstand the situation entirely, boy. You’re in no position to bargain. In fact…” He steps closer, his shadow falling over Eren. “If you don’t start cooperating, I’ll begin with him.”

His gaze lands on Armin, and Eren’s heart lurches.

“What do you want to know?” he growl.

The priest smirks. He takes his time, circling Eren like a predator sizing up its prey. “Let’s start simple. Who sent you? Who else knows you’re here?”

Eren remains silent for a moment, long enough that one of the guards presses his blade closer to Armin’s side. The sight spurs him to speak. “We’re just travelers. We got lost and ended up here. That’s it.”

The priest narrows his eyes, unimpressed. “A pathetic lie. Try again.”

“I told you the truth,” Eren snaps. “We don’t know anything about—”

The priest raises a hand, and one of the guards shoves Armin hard against the wall, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from him.

“Stop!” Historia yells.

“Enough.” The priest silences her with a raised hand. He glances toward the guards again. “Prepare the girls. It’s time to leave. Kill the blonde boy first.”

Eren’s eyes widen. “Wait,” he says quickly, his eyes flicking to Historia in a way only she would catch. “I’ll tell you everything.”

The priest's lips curl into a triumphant sneer. “Good. Start talking before I decide you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

Behind him, Historia shifts her weight slightly. Her fingers brush the blade hidden at her waist, and her heart pounds in her chest.

Eren takes a deep breath. “We were sent here by someone, someone powerful.”

The priest narrows his eyes, taking a slow step toward him. At the same moment, Historia moves. Her hand flashes as she draws the blade and slashes upward, forcing the nearest guard to drop his weapon with a grunt of pain.

Chaos erupts.

Armin doesn’t hesitate. He slams the back of his head into the face of the guard holding him, the sickening crunch of cartilage echoing in his ears. The man stumbles, cursing, and Armin stumbles forward, his breath coming fast and shallow.

Eren’s voice cuts through the clamor. “Run!”

Eren watches as Historia grabs Armin’s arm and makes a run for the open doorway.

Then he comes face to face with the priest.

Armin glances back as he and Historia run. The guards’ furious shouts echo in the darkened chamber.

“Wait!” he sputters, looking over his shoulder. “What about Eren?”

“Trust me,” Historia snaps. “He can handle himself.”

They race through a side hallway. Dust and the faint scent of mildew cling to the air as their hurried footsteps echo.

Rounding a corner, they skid to a halt, both of them pressing their backs against the wall as muffled voices drift closer. Peeking around the edge, Armin’s heart sinks.

A group of guards leads a line of girls through a side exit. Their hands are bound, their heads bowed in submission, and the youngest among them stumbles, barely managing to keep up.

“Those girls,” Armin whispers. “They were being held captive.”

Historia bites her lip, her eyes darting between the guards and the frightened women. Her jaw tightens, and without looking at Armin, she murmurs, “We can’t leave them.”

“What?” Armin hisses. “Historia, there are too many—”

She shakes her head and Armin lets out a shaky breath, gripping the wall for support. He knows he should stop her. He knows the odds aren’t in their favor.

But instead, he grips her arm as she crouches beside him behind the crates near the side exit. The guards are just a few feet away, their attention on ushering the women into the back of a truck. 

Armin whispers. “What do you need me to do?”

Historia’s eyes flick to him. She draws in a deep breath, her blade resting lightly in her palm. “I’ll take out the first two,” she murmurs. “You distract the one at the back. Just… keep him busy long enough for me to get to him.”

Armin’s stomach twists, but he nods.

“Stay low, and when I move, don’t hesitate,” she adds. “Take this.” She pulls out another blade from her belt and hands it to him. He wants to ask how many of those she has but he doesn’t.

The blade feels unfamiliar in his palm.

“On three,” Historia whispers, her eyes locked on the guards.

Armin nods again, adrenaline coursing through him. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest as he counts silently in his head: one… two…

“Three!” Historia exclaims.

Frieda’s voice echoes in her memory.

"Don’t rely on anyone to save you, Historia. You have to know how to stand your ground. The world won’t give you the luxury of safety."

Frieda had taught her everything—how to disarm a larger opponent, where to strike for maximum impact, how to stay calm under pressure. But Historia never imagined it would come to this. She never thought she would be fighting these kind of battles, that these lessons would be put to the test in a desperate moment like this.

As she lunges forward, intuition takes over. She focuses on the nearest guard, who is busy shoving the last of the women toward the truck. She grips her knife tightly, tucking into a low roll just as Armin springs up to create a distraction.

“Hey!” Armin shouts, his voice echoing against the stone walls. The guard closest to him whirls around, eyes wide. “Over here!”

Armin grabs a nearby crate and hurls it in the man’s direction. It misses by a mile, but the distraction is enough.

Seizing the opportunity, Historia springs from her hiding place. She moves swiftly, slashing at the first guard’s arm with her blade before he even registers her presence. The man yelps in surprise and pain, dropping his weapon with a clatter. Without waiting for him to react further, she twists and kicks out at his knees, sending him sprawling to the ground.

“Go!” she shouts, pointing to the women huddled nearby. “Get in the truck!”

Armin helps the women climb into the vehicle, his hands trembling as he ushers them inside. Historia opens the door and presses a knife to the driver’s chest. He doesn’t look like any of the guards and he’s unarmed.

Get out! Now!” she commands.

The man’s eyes widen, but he complies, scrambling out of the truck as the remaining guards scramble to regain their composure.

Historia jumps into the driver’s seat, fumbling with the keys. The truck rumbles to life, the engine roaring as she slams her foot on the gas.

They speed away from the church, the sound of shouts fading behind them. Armin grips the dashboard, his knuckles white.

“We can’t just leave Eren!” he says.

Historia’s jaw tightens. Her hands grip the wheel so hard her knuckles blanch. “The best thing we can do is leave him,” she says.

Her mind flashes back to the car ride with Eren.

The sunlight streamed through the windows as the car hummed quietly down the empty road. She had leaned her head against the glass, watching the trees blur past, when Eren spoke.

“If we’re ever in a situation where we’re held hostage,” he began, “and you have a chance to escape… you take it.”

Historia turned to him, frowning. “Why?”

Eren turned the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Because you’ll only be a liability.”

The words stung. She stared at him, searching his face for something—anything. But there was nothing. “You think so little of me?” she asked quietly.

He glanced at her then. “No, Historia. I trust you to do the smart thing. If you stay, they’ll use you against me. There’s very little I can do when I have to protect you too. You’ll be safer far away.”

She didn’t respond, turning back to the window.

Now, in the truck, his voice echoes in her mind.

“Safer far away.”

Her throat tightens as she presses harder on the accelerator. She doesn’t look at Armin, doesn’t explain further. She doesn’t need to.

Eren made her promise, and for better or worse, she’s keeping it.

Chapter Text

Eren knows when Historia and Armin get away with the truck, because a man bursts into the room, his face pale and drenched in sweat. "They’re gone!” he shouts. “The intruders escaped with the girls!”

The priest’s face contorts with fury. His fingers curl around the edge of his robe as though resisting the urge to strike something—or someone. His gaze snaps to Eren, who stands, bound and bruised.

“Kill him,” the priest snarls. “Now.”

Eren exhales slowly, the sound almost like a sigh. His shoulders roll back, and he lifts his head, emerald eyes narrowing as they meet the priest’s.

“You should not have touched Armin,” he says.

The guards tighten their grips, one stepping forward to land a blow, but Eren’s voice cuts through the air.

“Where I come from,” he begins. “I fought monsters worse than you. I even became one.”

The guards hesitate—just long enough for Eren to act.

He twists sharply, his elbow slamming into the jaw of the man on his left. Bone crunches audibly, the guard’s head snapping back as he crumples to the ground. Eren grabs the knife from the fallen man’s belt with fluid precision, spinning to plunge it into the neck of the guard on his right. Blood sprays in an arc, painting the stone walls in crimson.

The third man stumbles backward, fumbling for his weapon, but Eren is on him in an instant. He drives his knee into the man’s chest, the force knocking him to the ground, and finishes him with a single, brutal slash to the throat.

The remaining guards rush in, their shouts bouncing off the church’s stone walls. Eren moves like a predator unleashed. He pivots, dodging a blade aimed at his ribs, then slams the knife into the attacker’s stomach, twisting it mercilessly before pulling it free.

A fist flies toward his face, but Eren ducks, grabbing the arm and yanking the man forward into his knee. Cartilage shatters as the man howls in agony, clutching his face. Eren doesn’t hesitate, delivering a swift kick to his temple that silences him for good.

Another guard lunges with a baton, but Eren catches it mid-swing, ripping it from his grasp. The heavy weapon feels natural in his hand as he swings it with brutal force, striking two men in rapid succession. One collapses with a shattered knee; the other doesn’t get back up at all.

The air reeks of blood and sweat. Bodies litter the floor, motionless.

When only three remain, their courage falters. They exchange glances, gripping their weapons with shaking hands. Eren’s gaze locks onto them, and something primal, something monstrous, flashes in his eyes.

The priest doesn’t wait. He bolts for the back door, his robes billowing behind him like smoke in the wind. The men drop their weapons and chase after him, abandoning their posts as they scramble to follow.

Eren doesn’t rush after them. Instead, he walks slowly, stepping over the bodies strewn across the floor.

“You think you’re untouchable,” he calls, his voice echoing through the church like a ghost’s lament.

The priest stumbles, nearly tripping over his robes, but he doesn’t stop.

“You remind me of them,” Eren continues, almost amused. “The ones who stole my freedom. The ones who hurt my friends.”

The priest bursts into the hallway, his breath ragged, but Eren follows, like death itself stalking its prey.

“Do you know what I did to them?” Eren asks. “I crushed them. I tore their world apart, brick by brick. I gave them a fate worse than death.”

The priest finally reaches a door, fumbling with the lock, his fingers slick with sweat. Eren watches, unhurried, his lips curling into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“And you?” Eren says, his voice now a whisper that crawls under the priest’s skin. “You’re just another tyrant.”

The door doesn’t open. The priest lets out a frustrated cry.

“So I’ll do to you what I did to them,” Eren promises.

The priest claws at the door, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the lock. His breath comes in sharp, panicked gasps. He doesn’t have time to scream when Eren grabs him by the hair and yanks him back, the force wrenching his neck. The priest cries out, but his voice is cut off as Eren slams his face into the cold stone wall with a sickening thud. Blood smears across the surface, a jagged streak of red against gray.

Eren’s grip tightens, his knuckles white as he leans in close. “But first, it’s my turn to ask questions.”

The priest whimpers, his body trembling like a leaf in a storm. “Please,” he begs, his voice cracking. “I’ll tell you anything, just… spare my life.”

Eren tilts his head, blinking slowly. “You’re not in a position to make requests,” he replies. “If you answer my questions, I’ll consider making your death less painful.”

The priest freezes, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths. He shakes his head frantically, his lips trembling as he mutters, “Please. Please.”

Eren’s gaze doesn’t soften. His grip doesn’t falter. He leans in closer, the words leaving his mouth slowly. “Start talking.”

The sun hangs low in the sky by the time Eren steps into the church’s main hall. The silence is the kind that settles after a storm has swept through, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake.

He walks down the aisle. His clothes are soaked in blood, sticky against his skin. It clings to him, staining him deeper than any water could wash away.

Eren collapses into the first pew, his head tilting back as his eyes settle on the massive wooden cross hanging above the altar. The bloodied figure of Christ gazes down at him, the carved eyes full of silent judgment—or maybe compassion. He can’t tell anymore.

He’s committed so many sins. In his first life, in this one. The list is endless: lives taken, lies told, blood spilled in the name of freedom, in the name of love. It doesn’t matter what he tells himself. These hands, soaked in red, will never be clean.

“Would you forgive me?” he whispers, his voice hoarse. He isn’t sure who he’s asking. God? Himself?

It doesn’t matter. He shakes his head. He already knows the answer.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he stares at the cracked screen. He should call Historia, find out if she and Armin are safe, how far they’ve gotten. That’s the responsible thing to do. The right thing.

Instead, his thumb scrolls down his contacts, lingering over one name.

Mikasa.

He presses the call button before he can think better of it.

The phone rings once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring, she picks up.

“Eren?” Her voice is soft, hesitant.

Eren doesn’t answer. He doesn’t trust himself to. He grips the phone tighter, his breath catching in his throat as he listens to the sound of her breathing.

“Eren,” she says again. “Are you there? What’s wrong?”

His breath hitches. Her voice is gentle but strong, just like her. It fills the hollow ache in his chest, if only for a moment.

He closes his eyes, his lips parting as if to speak—but nothing comes.

Instead, he ends the call.

For a long moment, he doesn’t move. Then, he stands, his legs heavy. He looks up at the cross one last time.

Forgiveness doesn’t matter to him. Heaven, hell, none of it matters.

As long as he gets to hear Mikasa Ackerman say his name, he doesn’t care what happens to him.

Armin sits by the window, his fingers loosely wrapped around a chipped mug of tea. Outside, the world feels still. The faint rustle of leaves in the yard and the distant hum of a passing car are the only sounds. He hasn’t touched the tea beyond the polite sip he took when an older woman handed it to him. It’s mint, soothing on paper but doing little to calm the storm in his chest.

“Thank you,” the woman had said.

Armin didn’t respond. He wasn’t the one who saved her daughter. Historia was. If anything, he was a liability. If he hadn’t been there, that Eren…

The house is small and cramped, its furniture worn but clean, the walls adorned with family photos. It feels safe in the way an old quilt does. The old woman’s daughter was one of the women they’d rescued. She had insisted they come here to hide, ushering them in with trembling hands and hurried reassurances that no one would find them. She’d even called someone to dispose of the truck. Armin hopes it’s enough.

His grip tightens around the mug as his thoughts drift back to the church.

“He’ll be here soon,” Historia says from the couch. Armin glances over his shoulder at her. She’s reclined, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling like she’s searching for answers in the faded plaster. “I sent him a text.”

There’s a pause, and then she adds, “He hasn’t texted back though.”

Armin’s jaw tenses. He doesn’t respond at first, just turns back to the window, watching the street. His thoughts race in loops, circling the same questions without landing on any answers. Finally, breaking the silence, he asks, “Will he have to…kill those men?”

Historia exhales audibly, a sound that’s part sigh, part laugh. “Yes, and I hope he makes it painful,” she says.

Armin flinches and turns to her.

Her blue eyes meet his. “They were monsters, Armin,” she continues. “You saw what they were going to do. To those women. To us. Monsters shouldn’t be spared.”

The conviction in her voice sends a chill through him, but it’s the hint of something else—weariness, resignation—that keeps him from arguing. He stares at her, searching her face for some flicker of guilt, but she’s unreadable.

She looks away, her hands gripping the edge of the couch like she’s holding herself in place. “It’s easier,” she says after a moment, “if you think about it that way. You have to, or it’ll eat you alive.”

Armin’s shoulders slump, his fingers brushing against the rim of the mug. He knows she’s right, at least in part. He’d felt it too in that moment, when everything was chaos and survival was all that mattered. But now, the enormity of it presses down on him.

“What’s going on, Historia?” he asks, “Why were you even there? What are you two doing?”

Historia’s lips press into a thin line. Then she shifts on the couch, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, “I think you need to have that conversation with Eren.”

Armin shakes his head. “That’s not Eren,” he says, stepping away from the window.

Historia looks up at him, but then she sighs, a long exhale. “You’re right,” she says, resting her chin on her knees, her eyes meeting his. “I didn’t really know Eren, not until the dance.”

Armin frowns.

“I only recently found out,” she continues, “that he’s not... from around here.”

The room feels colder suddenly, or maybe it’s just the way Armin stiffens at her words. He stares at her.

Historia straightens, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knees. “I don’t know much about it,” she admits. “Where he’s from, what it was like there... but you can see it too, can’t you?”

Armin blinks. “See what?”

“That look in his eyes,” she says. “Like he’s seen the worst the world has to offer. Like he’s survived it, but it left scars no one else can see.”

Armin doesn’t answer.

“I see it in the way he doesn’t hesitate. The way he takes out anyone who tries to hurt the people he cares about,” Historia adds. “You saw it in the tunnels, didn’t you? How ruthless he is.”

The memory hits Armin like a punch to the gut—the tunnels, the screams. It had unsettled him then, and it unsettles him now.

“Wherever he came from,” Historia continues, “he fought monsters. Real ones. Stronger than the men in that church.”

Armin’s gaze drops to the floor, her words sinking in. He wants to argue, to push back against this version of Eren she’s painting, but he can’t. Because it’s true. He’s seen it.

“And that’s why,” Historia says, “I’d rather have him on my side than anything else.”

The room falls silent again. Armin glances back toward the window. Whatever Eren is, whatever he’s been through, he knows that there’s more to his oldest friend than he ever imagined. And he isn’t sure if that realization terrifies him or makes him feel safe.

Historia stands and makes her way out of the living room. Armin watches her go, then he lifts the small mug to his lips and takes another sip. Mint. The taste lingers. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting the flavor settle on his tongue. Mint. It reminds him of something he can’t quite place.

He opens his eyes and his gaze drifts, unfocused at first, until it lands on a painting hanging on the far wall. The colors are muted, blues and grays bleeding into one another. The ocean.

Armin blinks. His heart rate slows, the edges of his vision blurring slightly. The room seems to grow quieter, as though the ticking of the clock and the rustling of the wind outside have receded into the background.

The ocean in the painting shifts, like ripples moving across its surface. Armin’s breath catches in his throat. He blinks again, and the world around him dissolves into a flood of light and sound.

He’s standing on a shoreline now, the salty breeze whipping through his hair, the tang of the sea filling his lungs. He feels the wet sand beneath his feet, hears the crash of waves against the shore. There’s a shell in his palms. His eyes widen, his chest tightening as he takes it all in. The vastness, the sheer magnitude of it—this is the ocean.

Armin’s lips part in wonder. It’s more beautiful than he ever imagined. The water stretches endlessly before him. He takes a step forward, the water lapping at his feet, and his hands tremble.

“It’s…just like I always said Eren,” he says. “A salt lake so big, merchants could never deplete it even if they spent their whole lives extracting salt.”

“It was out here all along, just like I thought,” he adds.

Eren stands nearby, staring out at the horizon. His hair is tousled by the wind. “Yeah. It goes on forever,” he responds.

Eren smiles at the shell, then he turns back to Eren. “Hey Eren, look at this. On this side of the wall is the…”

“Ocean,” Eren finishes. “And beyond the ocean lies freedom.”

Armin follows his gaze, his own eyes tracing the distant line where the sky meets the water. He turns back to Eren and catches a glimpse of his face—his eyes…

Armin’s chest tightens. He should feel exhilarated, standing here at the edge of the world they’d dreamed of reaching. But Eren’s expression dims that joy, replacing it with something colder.

Fear.

The image fades as quickly as it came, the colors bleeding away until all that’s left is the muted blue-gray of the painting on the wall. Armin gasps. The taste of mint lingers in his mouth.

“What...was that?” he whispers to himself.

“Armin.”

He startles and looks up sharply. Eren is standing in before him. His face is shadowed, unreadable, but his eyes—those eyes—are just as they were in the vision.

Armin freezes, his pulse hammering in his ears. For a moment, he wonders if he’s still dreaming.

Eren takes a step further. “Are you okay?”

Chapter Text

Armin sits on the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, his chin resting on his knees as he watches Eren move across a bedroom. The quiet shuffle of fabric fills the silence as Eren slips on a clean shirt, exposing the lean muscles of his back. Armin's gaze catches on the faint, crisscrossing scars scattered over his skin.

Where did they come from?

The thought lingers for only a moment before the shirt covers the scars once more. Eren gathers his hair and ties it into a bun, the faint scrape of the elastic snapping into place sounding louder than it should in the quiet room.

When Eren is done, he sits on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, and his gaze finds Armin's.

"What were you doing at the church?" he asks. 

Armin doesn't respond.

"How long have you been following me?"

Armin's throat tightens. He drops his eyes to the floor, avoiding Eren's stare.

Eren sighs and he mutters a curse under his breath. "I can't believe this."

"I know..." Armin says suddenly, his voice breaking the silence. He doesn't look up, but his words hang in the air. "I know you're not Eren."

When he finally dares to glance up, Eren's jaw is clenched tight, his expression unreadable. But there's something in his eyes—something dangerous.

"Who are you?" Armin asks, his heart pounding in his chest.

Eren holds his gaze for a long moment before replying. "I'm Eren Yeager."

"You're lying," Armin snaps.

Eren's lips twitch into a humorless smile. "I'm just not your Eren."

The room falls into an uneasy silence. Armin's arms fall from his knees, and he leans forward slightly. The puzzle pieces are finally falling into place, and he can't stop the flood of words spilling out.

"I found the journal," he admits, hesitant. "I read it. I saw the things you wrote about me...and Mikasa."

Eren's expression doesn't change, but his posture stiffens.

"I followed you to Principal Erwin's tent," Armin continues, the words tumbling out faster now. "I heard you talking to...him and Historia. And I snuck onto the truck and followed you to the church because I wanted to know who you are. What you're doing."

Eren doesn't respond immediately. He leans back slightly, his hands resting on his thighs.

"So I guess you do know everything," Eren says finally, his tone flat, devoid of emotion.

Armin shakes his head. "No, I don't. Not really."

Eren leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. For a moment, he doesn't speak, his gaze fixed on the floor as if searching for the right place to begin. Armin watches him, waiting.

Finally, Eren exhales sharply and looks up, meeting Armin's questioning eyes. "You want to know the truth?"

Armin nods, his fingers curling into the fabric of his pants.

"The reality I came from..." Eren starts, "was nothing like this one. It was a nightmare. We lived on an island, surrounded by monsters called titans—giant, mindless creatures that devoured humans."

Armin's brows knit together in confusion. "What?"

Eren nods grimly. "They were horrifying, relentless. They destroyed everything—our homes, our families, our lives. And we fought them for years, thinking we were just fighting to survive. But the truth was more complicated than that."

"What do you mean?" Armin presses.

"Those monsters were people," Eren says bluntly. "People cursed to turn into those things. Some had special abilities—abilities that made them even more dangerous. I was one of them."

Armin's breath catches.

"You were one too."

Armin looks down at his feet. None of what Eren says makes any sense.

"It sounds like a lot I know," Eren admits. "But it's true. The power of the titans—it's not just physical. It's tied to everything, to life itself. After I died—"

"You died?" Armin interrupts, his eyes widening as his head snaps up.

Eren nods. "Yes. And it wasn't until after that I realized... I could see other realities. At first, I thought it was just my imagination or maybe some kind of afterlife. But then, I found out I could do more than just watch."

Armin leans forward. "What do you mean?"

"I could...inhabit them," Eren says, his voice quieter now. "The bodies of other Erens in other realities. The first time was an accident. I didn't know what I was doing or how it worked. But once I understood, I started trying to help. To save my friends in realities where things were going wrong."

Armin's eyes narrow as he processes the information. "That's how you're...here."

Eren tilts his head slightly, a faint, humorless smile playing on his lips. "Yes. It wasn't always permanent. I could never stay for too long. It was like... borrowing a room in a house that doesn't belong to me. Eventually, I had to leave."

"How many times have you done this?"

Eren's gaze drops again. "Not many. It's not easy. And it doesn't always help. No matter what I do, things still...go wrong. People still get hurt."

Silence settles between them. The room feels smaller. Armin's voice breaks the stillness. "What about... my Eren? What happened to him?"

Eren stiffens, his eyes shifting away as he runs a hand through his tied-back hair. The pause stretches too long, and Armin's chest tightens.

"When I first got here..." Eren begins. "I was surprised. This was the first world I'd seen without titans. No walls, no monsters hunting you down at every turn. It was almost... perfect."

Armin leans forward, his throat dry. "Then what happened?"

Eren sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping. "I thought I could do everything I needed to do—fix things, prevent the tragedies I'd seen in other worlds. So I... I destroyed the source of the Titans."

Armin's brows furrow. "How?"

"It doesn't matter now," Eren cuts in quickly, shaking his head. "The point is, I did everything I needed to do to keep everyone safe. To keep you and Mikasa and everyone I cared about safe. And then... I left his body."

Armin's heart skips. 

"I didn't belong here," Eren admits, his eyes distant. "I was fine just... watching. But then..." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing visibly. "Eren Yeager died."

The words land like a blow. Armin feels the sting in his chest. He blinks rapidly, but his vision blurs as tears well in his eyes.

"I didn't have control over it," Eren says. "Your Eren... he died in that accident. And my soul—my consciousness—was pulled into this body. I woke up in that hospital, and I couldn't leave. I tried, Armin, but I couldn't. And now..." His voice falters, and he hesitates before adding, "I think the only way I can leave is by dying."

The tears spill over, sliding down Armin's cheeks before he can stop them. He presses the back of his hand to his eyes, his chest heaving.

Eren moves quickly, crossing the space between them and kneeling in front of Armin. He places a hand on Armin's shoulder, his grip trembling. "I'm sorry," Eren says. "I'm so sorry for taking over him. For lying. For keeping all of this from you. I never wanted to hurt you, Armin."

Armin lowers his hand, his tear-streaked face lifting to meet Eren's gaze.

"You are one of the most important people to me," Eren says, the words spilling out before he can stop them. His green eyes are wide. "In every single world, I wanted to protect you. No matter what. That's all I've ever wanted."

Armin's breath hitches, his lips trembling. "Who was I to you?" he asks, his voice breaking. "In all those other realities... who were we to each other?"

Eren's eyes soften. "The same thing we are now," he says. "Best friends."

Eren walks alongside Armin as they cross the school courtyard, the sun casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. Wind rustles through the trees, the leaves a vibrant green against the cloudless blue sky.

A few students are milling about, chatting in clusters or sitting on the benches beneath the towering trees. It seems strange to be back at school after the events of the weekend, but Eren doesn't have a choice. He has a test he needs to take today.

Mundane things such as homework and exams seem less important than things like protecting the people he loves from far more powerful people, but Eren tries not to dwell on that. If anything, the normalcy is a welcome relief.

"So, in those other universes," Armin asks suddenly, "was I rich? Like, super rich?"

Eren smirks faintly. Since they got back to school, Armin has been asking questions...way too many questions. He made Eren sketch a few titans so he could get a better picture of the nightmare world Eren described. He asked about the other worlds he had witnessed, what they were like, new inventions, and his life in them.

Eren doesn't mind it. He'd take that over Armin being wary of him.

"In some of them, yeah," Eren says. "You had a pretty good streak in a few."

Armin's laugh is light but then his gaze shifts to the entrance of the gym. Eren follows it to see Annie slipping off her headphones before she opens the doors and walks inside.

"What about Annie?" Armin asks. "Was she, uh... always around?"

Eren's steps falter for a second as his eyes flick toward Armin, who's now blushing furiously. "Well, that hasn't changed either," he mutters, a teasing edge in his voice.

Armin's cheeks darken further as he looks up at him. "Do I like Annie in every universe too?"

Eren chuckles. "In some of them."

"And... does she like me back?"

Eren's smile softens. "In some of them."

That seems to satisfy Armin, who grins and stuffs his hands into his pockets as they make their way toward the gym. The moment they step inside, his gaze snags on a figure across the gym.

 Mikasa.

Eren's breath catches.

She's stretching, her long black hair tied back in a loose ponytail. Her movements are fluid, practiced, and the faint sheen of sweat on her skin glints under the harsh gym lights. He feels it immediately—a sharp, unwelcome pang in his chest, like his heart is being squeezed.

His heartbeat quickens, thundering so loudly it drowns out everything else. There's an ache he can't suppress, a need that rises in him so fast it's maddening. His hands curl into fists at his sides, the urge to go to her, to touch her, nearly overwhelming. He swallows hard, trying to suppress it, knowing full well he shouldn't.

"Do you like Mikasa in every universe too?" Armin's voice is softer now, almost hesitant.

Eren blinks. "What makes you think I like her?"

"The way you look at her."

How does he look at her? Eren looks away and his jaw tightens when he answers. "No."

Armin glances at him, eyebrows raised. "No?"

"I love her," Eren says quietly. "In every universe."

Armin stops walking, stunned into silence for a moment. Then he tilts his head. "And does she feel the same way in all of them?"

Eren's throat works as he swallows hard. The answer burns on his tongue, but before he can respond, Mikasa turns.

Her eyes find his across the gym, and they widen slightly, a flicker of surprise flashing through them. Then, as quickly as it appeared, her gaze softens, her lips parting just slightly.

Shit.

Eren feels the air leave his lungs in a rush. She's so beautiful it physically hurts. It's like the sight of her lodges itself deep in his chest, an ache he can't shake no matter how hard he tries. He forces himself to stand still, to not move toward her even though every nerve in his body screams at him to do so. His nails dig into his palms.

"She's looking at you," Armin whispers, nudging him.

"I know," Eren mutters, his voice barely audible, his eyes locked on hers.

For a moment, neither of them moves, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

And then she smiles.

Eren's resolve shatters a little more.

If Mikasa Ackerman isn't careful, one of these days, he just might do something stupid.

Like kiss her.  

Armin makes his way to the side of the room, taking a seat next to Historia. Eren watches them for a moment, catching the way Armin leans in to say something, and how Historia's lips twitch upward in a faint smile. There's something in her expression—worry, maybe—but Eren looks away before he can dwell on it too long.

Levi claps his hands sharply, cutting through the noise. Everyone turns toward him, their attention snapping to the center of the room where he stands, arms crossed over his chest.

"Since you all managed not to embarrass yourselves this weekend,"  he begins. "I'm giving you some time off today."

Eren raises an eyebrow, dropping his bag with a soft thud onto the floor. "That's unlike you," he mutters under his breath.

Levi's sharp eyes lock onto him, and for a moment, Eren regrets speaking. "Don't get used to it," Levi replies coolly. Then his gaze sweeps across the group. "You'll still be sparring today. It's just for fun, so don't take it too seriously. Enjoy it."

He narrows his eyes. "Because it's the last time you'll get a break this semester."

The students exchange uneasy glances, but Levi claps his hands again, cutting off any murmurs of protest. "Pick your partners," he says.

Annie steps forward. "I'll spar with Mikasa," she says simply. "The competition was fun."

Mikasa looks at her, and a small smile curves her lips. "Sure."

Eren glances around, his gaze flicking between Ymir and Reiner. Ymir catches his eye, tilting her head slightly before speaking up. "I want to spar with Eren."

Reiner frowns, stepping forward. "I want to spar with him too."

Ymir glares at him. "Wait your turn, big guy."

Eren raises an eyebrow at her, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. "Didn't know I was so popular," he says dryly.

Ymir shrugs. "You've got a punchable face."

Before Eren can respond, his eyes drift to the side of the room, where Historia sits quietly. She's leaning forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees, but her shoulders are tense. She stares at Ymir, a worried look in her eyes. Eren narrows his eyes slightly, his gaze darting between the two girls.

He scoffs. "No way," he mutters under his breath.

Is he in the middle of a lover's spat?

Chapter Text

In the locker room, Eren pulls on his sparring gloves. He rolls his shoulders, stretching out the tension that’s already settled there. Why me? he thinks, exhaling sharply. Relationship drama was the last thing he wanted to deal with today. He moves to the bench, absently lacing up his boots. He hears the soft creak of the door and looks up to see Mikasa stepping in, her gym bag slung over one shoulder. Her dark hair is tied back, loose strands framing her face, and she looks at him.

“Connie said you came by the dorm on Monday,” Eren says.

Mikasa pauses, her fingers hovering over her locker’s combination dial. “I did,” she replies, glancing at him briefly before focusing on the numbers.

He waits for her to continue, but when she doesn’t, he raises a brow. “Why?”

“You weren’t in class yesterday,” she says instead of answering as she opens her locker.

Eren leans back, resting his elbows on his knees. “Wasn’t feeling too great after the weekend,” he says, shrugging. “Needed some time to…reset.”

Mikasa’s hands still for a moment as she pulls out her gear. “Oh."

He tilts his head, watching her. “Didn’t think you’d notice,” he admits. "Did you miss me, Ackerman?"

This is Eren's problem.

He knows inside of him, that he should stay away from Mikasa Ackerman. He knows that the only thing that awaits them if he gets close to her is tragedy.

But when they're alone, when he hears her voice. All Eren wants to do is keep pushing, to keep drawing her out. He wants to hear more of it, all the time.

He watches the way she tenses, the way her gaze falls, her lashes dark against her pale cheeks. And then she glances at him. "Not particularly."

It's a lie.

A blatant, obvious lie.

Mikasa is as drawn to him as he is to her. That annoying little thread of fate tugs at both of them, and no matter how much they pull back, they end up closer and closer.

Eren sighs, and rubs his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. He stands from the bench and makes his way towards the door. "Good luck in the session with Annie."

He doesn't wait to hear her response.

When Eren steps back into the gym, Ymir is already waiting on the mat. She’s bouncing lightly on her toes, rolling her neck, and the anger in her gaze immediately sets him on edge. Her energy isn’t the usual playful antagonism she carries; it’s something heavier.

Eren walks toward her. He already knows this isn’t going to be a fun match.

They square off, and Levi signals for them to start. Ymir wastes no time, launching forward with a jab that Eren sidesteps easily. Her movements are quick and aggressive. She throws another punch, then a kick, and Eren blocks each one.

“Are you taking it easy on me, Yeager?” Ymir snaps as she presses forward again, swinging hard.

Eren steps back, raising a forearm to block her strike. “No,” he says flatly, though it’s not entirely true.

“Bullshit.” She lunges at him again, this time aiming for his ribs, but he twists out of the way, her fist glancing off his arm instead.

He sighs, dropping his guard for a moment to meet her glare.

The truth is, he’s annoyed. The tension between Ymir and Historia has probably been simmering for days now, and this—this sparring match—is just an outlet for Ymir’s frustrations. Like I’m supposed to be her punching bag, he thinks irritably. If he fights back too hard, Historia will probably give him hell for it later, and that’s a headache he’d rather avoid.

Ymir’s teeth grit, her jaw tightening as she advances again. This time, there’s more force behind her strike, and Eren blocks it with a forearm though the impact reverberates up his arm.

“Stop holding back,” she growls, her voice low and venomous.

“Or what?” Eren shoots back, dodging another punch.

Before Ymir can respond, Levi’s sharp voice cuts through the air. “Enough!”

Both of them freeze, turning toward him. Levi walks forward. “You’re supposed to be sparring, not fighting,” he says pointedly. His eyes narrow at Ymir. “I said to enjoy it. Try listening next time.”

Ymir scowls and her shoulders stiffen but she doesn’t argue.

“Annie, Mikasa, you’re up,” Levi calls, motioning to the mat.

Eren steps off the mat, shaking out his arms as he makes his way toward the sidelines. His eyes catch Historia standing a few feet away, watching him with an unreadable expression.

When he stops in front of her, she looks up, meeting his gaze.

“Tell your little girlfriend to back off,” Eren says evenly, keeping his voice low enough that only she can hear. 

Historia’s eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t respond. She glances over at Ymir, who’s still standing near the mat, her posture rigid and her glare sharp.

Eren doesn’t wait for a reply. He brushes past Historia, making his way to where Armin is seated on the sidelines. Armin looks up at him, offering a towel and a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” Eren mutters, wiping the sweat from his face before taking a long drink.

Ymir stalks away, and Historia follows after her. Eren exhales, rubbing a hand over his face.

Armin watches him for a moment, then asks, “So, those two… Did they like each other in a lot of universes too?”

Eren sighs, leaning back against the wall as he closes the bottle. “Most of them, yeah.”

Armin chuckles softly, shaking his head and Eren's gaze drifts toward the gym floor.

So annoying.

The rain comes down in sheets, its soft patter filling the air as Mikasa steps into the open gym. She hadn’t expected this—just hours ago, the sun was shining warmly.  Now, cold raindrops sting her skin, and she instantly regrets not bringing a jacket.

She shivers slightly, wrapping her arms around herself as the chill seeps through her shirt. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she pulls it out to see a message from Sasha. 

Class is canceled.

Mikasa exhales slowly. At least there’s that. She can head back to the dorm, eat something warm, and change into her uniform. Maybe crawl under a blanket for a little while.

The door behind her creaks open, and she turns to see Eren step out, flanked by Historia and Armin. Eren’s hands are stuffed into his coat pockets, his hair damp and falling slightly into his eyes. Historia stands close to him, sharing an umbrella. Their shoulders brush together, and Mikasa’s stomach twists at the sight.

Armin carries his own umbrella, holding it carefully as he greets her with a soft, “Hey, Mikasa. Do you not have an umbrella?”

She shakes her head. “No, I didn’t think I’d need one.”

Armin frowns slightly, then takes a step closer, lifting his umbrella over her. “I’ll walk with you,” he says.

Mikasa shivers again, this time more from the cold than anything else. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

Armin shifts his umbrella to cover both of them, the raindrops drumming lightly against the fabric above their heads. He gestures for them to start moving, but before they can take a step, Eren’s voice cuts through the rain.

“Wait.”

Mikasa freezes, turning to see him walking toward her. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—something she can’t quite place. He reaches into his coat and pulls out a red scarf.

Her breath catches.

Without a word, Eren steps closer, wrapping the scarf around her neck. The fabric is warm, holding onto the faint heat of his body, and she’s hit with a flash of memory so strong it nearly takes her breath away.

“I'll wrap it around you again as many times as you want. Now and forever. That's a promise!” his voice echoes in her mind.

The memory fades, leaving her staring up at him. He’s so close, and for a moment, she forgets how to breathe.

Mikasa glances to the side, where Historia stands under the umbrella, her face blank, unreadable.

She takes a step back, adjusting the scarf slightly as she forces herself to look away from him. “Thanks,” she says quietly. Her voice sounds too small in her ears, and she hates it.

Without waiting for a response, she turns and starts walking with Armin. The sound of Eren and Historia’s voices behind her is muffled by the rain, but she can hear them talking to each other. Is she upset with him? How could he even do that in front of his girlfriend?

She chances a glance back. Eren is close to Historia again, his hand brushing hers as they speak. The sight makes something sharp twist in her chest.

“Are you okay?” Armin’s voice pulls her from her thoughts.

She looks at him, startled, and sees his soft smile. Mikasa forces one in return. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

The air in Erwin’s office is heavy, the scent of old books and damp wood lingering in the room. Rain taps steadily against the window, and gray light filters through the glass. Erwin sits behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he slides a newspaper across the smooth wood surface. He rests his hands on the desk and looks at Eren and Historia, who stand stiffly across from him.

“I told you to be discreet,” he says calmly. “This is anything but.”

Eren glances down at the paper, frowning at the headline. There's a picture of the church, except it's burning. His lips twitch as he takes in the fire engulfing the building, smoke billowing out.

> ANCIENT CHURCH GOES UP IN FLAMES

“We ran into some problems,” Eren replies, crossing his arms.

Erwin leans back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. “Tell me you at least found out something we can work with.”

Eren exhales and shifts his weight, glancing at Historia, who has been uncharacteristically silent. “Rod Reiss is running a trafficking operation through the church. That chapel is just one of many branches,” he says.

Erwin’s eyebrows lift slightly. “Go on.”

“These branches are responsible for kidnapping people from their communities. On the last Monday of every month, a truck comes to pick them up and takes them to a site called the Sanctuary. That’s all I could get."

"Where is this sanctuary?"

"The priest didn't know the location, just that they had to deliver as many people as possible," Eren responds.

Historia bites her thumbnail. “We should’ve questioned the driver," she says sharply.

Eren glances at her sideways. "There wasn’t time for that. But there's more. The priest knew Frieda.”

At that, Historia freezes, her hand dropping from her face. “What?”

“He said he saw her last a few months ago,” Eren continues. “According to him, Frieda was the one in charge of the operation. She’s Rod’s heir. Though he knew that she's M.I.A, he hadn't met you yet. That would explain why he didn't recognize you."

“No.” Historia’s voice trembles as she stares at him. Her eyes are wide, her hands clenching at her sides. “My sister would never—she couldn’t—”

Eren shrugs, walking slowly around the office. “I’m not surprised. Someone has to keep the operation running, and if Rod was raising her to take over the family's business, it makes sense. The real question is what happens now that you’re the heir.”

Historia glares at him, her jaw tightening. “Don’t—”

“Enough,” Erwin interrupts. Both Eren and Historia fall silent, their gazes snapping to him.

“This gives us a direct path to our next move,” Erwin says. He focuses on Historia, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What you need to do now is take your place as heir seriously. Show your father that he can trust you enough to give you more information.”

Historia stares at him, her brows furrowing. “You want me to...to help my father kidnap people for God knows what? What good would that do? What if he—"

"It will help us find Frieda." Erwin stands and walks toward her. "It will help us gather evidence against him and find out how this operation is tied to the replication of the source. Finding Frieda and uncovering the details of Rod’s trafficking network will give us answers. For now, we stay the course.”

Historia’s lips press into a thin line, her hands trembling at her sides.

The tension in Erwin’s office thickens like the rain clouds outside. Erwin turns to Eren and his gaze pins the boy in place. “There’s one more thing I need from you.”

Eren shifts but doesn’t look up. “What?”

“I need you to get closer to Mikasa."

The words hit like a thunderclap. Eren’s head snaps up, and his eyes narrow into a glare. “No.”

“I’m not asking,” Erwin replies evenly.

Eren stands abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I’m refusing.”

Historia glances between them. “What does Mikasa have to do with this?” she asks.

Eren’s fists clench at his sides, his knuckles white. He ignores her and says to Erwin. “I’m not risking her life by getting close to her,” he says.

Erwin’s sharp eyes never waver. “Don't you think her life is already at risk?”

Eren glares at him but doesn’t respond.

“Mikasa’s parents were killed by the same people who tried to take her at the Reiss estate, a heavily guarded property that they should not have been able to get into," Erwin says. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that they happen to be part of a trafficking syndicate as well?”

Eren freezes.

Erwin doesn’t give him a chance to respond. “Too many things have changed, Eren,” he continues, moving back in his chair. “If we want to win this, we can’t afford to ignore these little connections. I need you to be on top of every single anomaly."

Eren’s shoulders sag slightly, but his fists remain clenched. He looks away, his gaze flicking toward the rain-streaked window. “No, I can't," he mutters, almost to himself. “Staying away from her is the safest thing—for her.”

“And how long do you think that will work?" Erwin asks.

Eren doesn’t respond. His mind is already elsewhere. He grips the edge of the desk, his knuckles whitening again.

This wasn’t part of the plan. But then again, when has anything ever gone according to plan?

Chapter Text

The dorm room is quiet except for the scratching of Sasha’s pen against paper. She’s been at her desk for nearly an hour, an unusual sight considering Sasha rarely studies. She's usually in bed, with piles of snacks and manga around her. Mikasa sits cross-legged on her bed, a textbook open in her lap, though she hasn’t read a single line in the past ten minutes. She keeps glancing at Sasha, who is hunched over, her face scrunched in concentration, her teeth absently worrying her lower lip.

Finally, Mikasa breaks the silence. “Are you actually studying?”

Sasha snorts, turning to face her. “Studying? Me? Nah.” She grins wide, her tone light and conspiratorial. “I'm planning a Halloween party.”

Mikasa blinks. "You're what?"

“Yup. Connie’s idea, but it’s gonna be cool," Sasha’s eyes glint with mischief as she twirls her pen between her fingers. " The location isn't set yet but we're going to make a haunted house! There'll be tons of fake blood and props and fog and lights and—"

She continues and Mikasa tries to ignore the sudden twist of her stomach. Halloween. She remembers the last time she celebrated with her parents. She can almost remember how warm it was, the scent of autumn leaves and pumpkin in the air. Her mother had worn a simple witch’s hat, laughing as she handed out candy. Her father had carved a pumpkin with a crooked grin. Mikasa remembers her costume, the way it felt to hold her parents’ hands, the quiet joy of being together.

She misses them.

She misses them so much.

"So what are you doing now?" Mikasa asks, tilting her head.

Sasha bends over her paper, her tongue poking out slightly as she scribbles furiously. “Making a list,” she replies without looking up. “People I want there. No Bertholdt, though. He’s weird.”

Mikasa frowns slightly. “If Reiner comes, Bertholdt will definitely show up.”

“Eh, true,” Sasha says, shrugging as if the thought doesn’t bother her much. She taps the pen against her chin, then grins slyly. “Should we invite Eren?”

The question lands like a spark in Mikasa’s chest, igniting a flare of heat that rushes to her face. She glances down quickly, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “Why should I decide that?”

These days, whenever Eren Yeager is mentioned, whenever his name slips past someone's lips, whenever she sees him, whenever he's remotely close to her, her heart skips a beat.

Sasha swivels in her chair, her grin widening. “Oh my God, are you blushing?”

Mikasa’s eyes snap up, her cheeks burning brighter. “No.”

“You totally are!” Sasha crows, leaning forward. “What, do you like him or something?”

“Sasha,” Mikasa says sharply.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sasha says. “Feelings aren’t anything to be ashamed of.”

Mikasa looks down at her book. “They are,” she mutters, “when the person has a girlfriend.”

The words hang in the air, and Sasha’s smile falters, her laughter fading. She tilts her head, studying Mikasa carefully.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Mikasa says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But seeing him… being around him… it feels… nice.” Her lips press together, and her brows knit as if she’s struggling to find the right words. “I think it started when Levi made us train together.”

Sasha frowns, her forehead creasing slightly.

Mikasa takes a deep breath. “It’s not just that.” She hesitates, her hands fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “It’s like… this isn’t the first time we’ve met. I know how it sounds, but…” She exhales shakily. “I’ve been having these weird visions and dreams, and…”

Sasha’s eyes widen slightly, and a sly smile creeps back onto her face. “Wait. You’ve been dreaming about him?”

The words make Mikasa bury her face in her hands, a low groan muffled by her palms. “I hate this,” she mutters, her shoulders tense.

“Whoa, whoa, no!” Sasha says quickly, hopping out of her chair and moving to Mikasa’s side. She sits down next to her, gripping Mikasa’s shoulders gently. “It’s okay, seriously.”

Mikasa doesn’t respond, her hands still covering her face. Sasha leans forward, resting her chin lightly on Mikasa’s shoulder. 

“Hey, come on. Look at me.”

Mikasa sighs but finally drops her hands, though her expression remains troubled. Sasha smiles before she pulls Mikasa into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around her shoulders.

“It’s going to be okay."

Mikasa exhales, leaning into the hug despite herself. Her eyes sting faintly, but she blinks back the ache, refusing to let it grow.

“You don’t have to figure everything out right now,” Sasha continues, pulling back just enough to look Mikasa in the eye. “But don’t beat yourself up for feeling something. It’s human.”

Mikasa nods slightly, though her chest still feels heavy. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

Sasha grins and nudges her shoulder playfully. “And hey, if you ever need someone to decode your dreams, I’m your girl. I mean, dreams about Eren Yeager? That’s juicy.”

Mikasa groans again, but this time there’s the faintest hint of a smile pulling at her lips. Sasha’s laughter fills the room once more, and Mikasa finds herself chuckling softly in return.

The Reiss mansion feels cold. Historia walks through the long corridors, her footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors. The walls are lined with portraits of her ancestors—solemn faces frozen in time, each draped in the finery of their era. She pauses before one of the larger portraits, a stern-faced man with piercing eyes framed by silver hair.

She tilts her head, studying his features. Not a single one of these faces bears any resemblance to her own. Historia traces the line of her jaw with her fingertips, her gaze flickering to another painting, this one of a woman with sharp cheekbones. At least she inherited her mother’s looks. At least she doesn't look like any of them.

The hall stretches on. Historia wraps her arms around herself as she continues toward the dining room. Erwin had told her to get closer to her father, to establish trust, but that was a tall order for someone who’d spent most of her life trying to stay out of his way. There wasn’t much she could do from school, though. That much was true.

When she reaches the dining room, the heavy wooden doors are already ajar. She steps inside, and her eyes land on Rod Reiss seated at the head of the long table. He doesn’t notice her at first, his attention fixed on the papers spread out around the plate of food before him. His hair is neatly combed back, but his age shows in the lines etched deeply into his face and the faint hunch of his shoulders.

He glances up. “You’re home,” he says.

Historia suppresses a shiver and steps further into the room. “Yes,” she replies as she moves to sit in the chair beside him.

Rod watches her for a moment before returning his attention to the papers in front of him. Historia glances at the table, noting the assortment of dishes laid out. She hesitates before serving herself a small portion.

“I don’t think I can fulfill my role as heir while staying away at school,” she says quietly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

Rod’s gaze flickers toward her, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly still. Then he leans back in his chair. “Focus less on that for now,” he says. “What I expect from you is to graduate with the best grades. You are a Reiss, after all. There is no reason you shouldn't have the best grades possible."

Historia stiffens slightly, her grip tightening on the fork. She forces her fingers to relax, exhaling slowly. “I can multitask,” she says softly, setting the utensil down with a quiet clink.

Rod’s eyes narrow slightly, and he looks up fully, studying her with the same intensity that has always made her feel like a child under scrutiny.

She meets his gaze. “You used to take Frieda with you when she was my age. Why can’t you do the same for me?” she asks. "I’m ready to prove myself."

For a moment, her father says nothing. Then he reaches for the glass of water beside his plate. His hand shakes slightly as he lifts it to his lips. “Fine,” he says. “Finish eating and be ready to leave in half an hour.”

Historia’s eyes widen. She barely has time to process his agreement before she looks down at her plate, suddenly hyperaware of the time. Without hesitation, she begins to eat quickly. Her mind races as her fork scrapes the last bite off her plate. She glances at her father, who is now absorbed in his papers again, before excusing herself and heading upstairs.

Her room is as pristine as always, untouched in her absence. The heavy curtains are drawn, allowing faint light to filter through the rain-streaked window. Historia steps to the wardrobe, pulling it open to scan her options. Something practical. Something neutral. She grabs a simple white blouse and a gray skirt, slipping them on. As she buttons the blouse, her fingers tremble slightly. She's nervous.

She fastens her boots, checking herself briefly in the mirror. Her reflection stares back. Historia smooths her hair into place, grabs a small coat from the wardrobe, and steps out of her room.

When she reaches the main hall, Rod is already there, flanked by two guards. Their black suits blend into the dim light of the foyer. Rod glances at her and nods once before turning toward the door.

Historia follows closely, her heart beating faster with each step. Outside, it's raining, a cold drizzle that slicks the cobblestone driveway. A sleek black car pulls up, its tires spraying water as it comes to a halt. One of the guards steps forward, opening a large umbrella and positioning it over Rod as he moves toward the car. The second guard mirrors the action for Historia, shielding her from the downpour as they walk briskly to the vehicle.

The car door clicks shut behind her, muffling the sound of the rain. The interior smells faintly of leather and rainwater. Rod sits beside Historia who hesitates before speaking.

“Where are we going?” she asks, her voice quieter than she intended.

Rod doesn’t answer. Historia’s curiosity simmers into frustration. She turns her attention to the window, watching as the car begins to glide through the city.

The streets are wet and gleaming, reflecting the glow of streetlights and the occasional neon sign. Pedestrians hurry along the sidewalks, their umbrellas bobbing like dark mushrooms in the rain. Cars honk sporadically, their headlights slicing through the gloom.

As the cityscape begins to fade, replaced by sparser buildings and darker streets, Historia shifts uneasily in her seat. The rain seems heavier out here, hammering against the car roof. The road narrows, flanked by dense trees that blur into shadowy forms in the downpour.

She sits up straighter, her breath catching when she recognizes the turn they take. Her mind races as the car moves through the increasingly familiar path. It's one of the locations on the list she'd given the Erwin.

The old Reiss estate.

The realization sends a chill down her spine. She looks at Rod out of the corner of her eye, but his expression remains impassive. Historia bites her bottom lip, her hands tightening into fists on her lap as the car continues down the winding road.

When the estate comes into view, shrouded in mist and rain, it looks like a ghost from her childhood. The iron gates creak open as they approach, and the car rolls forward into the shadow of the looming mansion. It comes to a halt, and the sound of the rain outside seems louder. Historia glances at her father as the door on his side opens. Without hesitation, Rod steps out, straightening his coat under the umbrella offered by one of the guards. He doesn’t spare her a glance as he moves toward the shadowy structure ahead.

The door on Historia’s side swings open, and a guard leans in slightly. “Miss Reiss, please step out of the car.”

Historia’s heart races. She hesitates, her fingers curling tightly against her skirt. This place was on the list. It's a location tied to the trafficking network Erwin spoke of and this realization makes her stomach churn. The guard straightens, waiting patiently, and his voice comes again, softer this time, “Miss Reiss.”

She blinks and steps out, ducking under the umbrella the guard holds over her. The rain is colder than she anticipated, icy droplets catching on her skin as she’s led around the side of the mansion. Her boots squelch against the wet ground as they approach a structure illuminated faintly in the downpour—a greenhouse.

She watches her father enter, and she lingers for a moment, her breath visible in the chilled air. She steels herself, swallowing the knot of unease in her throat, and hurries after him.

The moment she steps inside, Historia freezes. The warm, damp air smells of soil and faintly of flowers, but it’s the scene ahead that arrests her. A girl, no older than herself, is on her knees in front of Rod, her shoulders shaking with quiet, choked sobs. Her hands are bound, her tear-streaked face pale with terror.

Rod turns, his eyes settling on Historia. “Years ago, your sister proved herself to me,” he says coldly. “She proved she could handle all the parts of being a Reiss—the good and the bad.”

He raises his hand, and one of the guards steps forward, placing a small knife into his waiting palm. Rod holds it out toward Historia, the blade catching the dim light.

“This woman was caught trying to betray us,” Rod says simply. “As such, she must be dealt with.”

The girl on the floor sobs harder, her words tumbling over each other in a panicked rush. “Please! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again—please, please don’t!”

Historia feels like her body has turned to stone. Her feet refuse to move. Her heart pounds against her ribs like a drumbeat of protest. She remembers Armin's words—when he spoke of Eren killing those at the church. She had told him it was fine. Those people were monsters. But this girl... this girl is not a monster. She’s just a person.

“Historia."

Her name cuts through her frozen state, and she shivers. Her father is waiting. Watching. Expecting. Her hand trembles as she steps forward and reaches for the knife. It feels wrong, heavy and cold in her grasp.

For Frieda, for Ymir, for me, she tells herself, though the words feel hollow.

She moves slowly, her legs stiff as she positions herself in front of the girl. The girl looks up at her, desperation written in every tear, in every tremor of her lips. “Please,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “I’ll do anything. Please don’t.”

Tears prick Historia’s eyes, but she blinks them away quickly. Rod cannot see her cry. He cannot see her as weak. She swallows hard, gripping the knife tightly.

The girl sobs louder as Historia raises the blade. Her chest tightens painfully, but she keeps her face blank. This is what it takes to be a Reiss. To prove herself. This is the only way he'll trust her. This is the only way to find Frieda faster.

Her arm comes down. The knife pierces flesh, and the girl’s scream shatters the greenhouse’s fragile calm. Historia feels the impact vibrate through her arm, feels the warmth of blood splash against her hand.

She doesn’t let herself think. She doesn’t let herself feel.

Chapter Text

The grand wooden doors of the library creak softly as Sasha pushes them open, revealing antique chandeliers that illuminate rows of towering bookshelves. Mikasa follows Sasha through the aisles, her footsteps muffled by the thick, burgundy carpet.

“Survey Academy is old. Like, really old,” Sasha says over her shoulder. “I heard Principal Erwin’s family built it way back when. Crazy, right?”

Mikasa hums, half-listening as she glances at the faded paintings and carvings on the walls. The library smells like parchment and ink.

“In our freshman year,” Sasha continues, moving between shelves, “Connie and I used to explore all the hidden corners of this place. You know, looking for cool spots. That’s when we found these underground chambers.”

“Chambers?” Mikasa arches a brow.

“Yeah,” Sasha grins, stopping at a nondescript section of the wall. “They’re empty but soundproof. Perfect for parties and stuff.” She glances back, catching Mikasa’s skeptical look.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the party type,” Mikasa admits.

"Oh, I'm not," Sasha says. "But Connie loves them. And, well, there’s always a ton of snacks, so I’m not complaining.”

Before Mikasa can respond, Sasha tugs at the edge of a seemingly normal bookshelf. With a low groan, it shifts aside, revealing a narrow staircase descending into shadow. 

Mikasa's eyes widen. "Woah."

Sasha gestures grandly. "After you."

Mikasa hesitates, glancing down the steep steps. Then she steps forward, carefully making her way down.

Sasha follows close behind, humming softly to herself as the bookshelf slides back into place, shutting out the light. The air is cooler here, carrying a faint metallic tang. Sasha produces a small flashlight from her pocket, its beam slicing through the dimness as they begin their descent.

The stone steps are uneven, and Mikasa keeps a hand on the damp wall for balance. Distant voices drift up from the end of the staircase, muted but growing louder.

“By the way,” Sasha says, “Halloween’s on Friday, so in addition to the invite I sent, I said we needed volunteers to help set up. Looks like some people actually showed up.”

As they reach the bottom of the stairs, Mikasa notices a few figures milling about in the cavernous space. The underground chamber is larger than she imagined, its arched ceilings supported by ancient stone pillars. The faint glow of string lights makes the space look cozy and warm, and a cluster of tables is scattered throughout, laden with snacks and drinks.

Mikasa scans the group. A few familiar faces stand out—classmates she’s seen in passing, though their names escape her. She nods politely as she walks beside Sasha, her gaze drifting over the crowd.

And then she sees him.

Eren.

Her breath catches, and she freezes mid-step. Just like clockwork, as if some invisible force pulls him, his eyes find hers.

The room seems to fade. Mikasa feels an ache she can’t name twist deep in her chest. It’s as if the world tilts slightly, leaving her off-balance, her heart pounding in her ears.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe. It’s always like this with him, she realizes. No matter how many times they meet, her pulse races, and her stomach twists itself into knots. She doesn't understand it. She doesn't understand him.

He takes a step toward her, and his eyes narrow slightly. Then he stops, turning away abruptly.

The movement breaks the spell, and Mikasa finds herself moving forward with Sasha. They make their way toward a cluster of figures near the back. Jean and Connie are crouched over an assortment of tangled wires and string lights, their faces scrunched in concentration. Connie has a strip of duct tape in one hand and a somewhat defeated expression, while Jean seems to be fiddling with a stubborn bulb that refuses to light.

“What are you two doing?” Sasha asks.

“Trying to make these lights work,” Jean mutters, barely sparing a glance up. “Connie’s idea to use the old ones instead of buying new ones.”

“Hey,” Connie protests, waving the duct tape. “You said you wanted them too. And they’re vintage. Adds charm.”

Sasha snorts, then steps closer. “Can we help?”

Connie stands. “Nah, I need your help with something else. Let's leave Jean here."

"Hey!" Jean shoots him a glare. Connie grins and grabs Sasha by the wrist and pulls her away, leaving Mikasa standing awkwardly beside Jean.

She hesitates before gesturing to the tangled mess on the ground. “Need help with that?”

Jean looks up at her, his face softening into a smile. “Yeah, actually. Thanks.”

Mikasa crouches down, taking a section of the lights in her hands. The wires are cool and slightly sticky to the touch, remnants of old tape clinging stubbornly to their surface. She works quietly alongside Jean, the two of them untangling the mess.

“This is surprisingly satisfying,” Jean says after a while.

Mikasa glances at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It’s like solving a puzzle.”

Jean chuckles, leaning back slightly as he tests a bulb. “Exactly.” He stands abruptly, dusting off his hands. “Be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Mikasa watches him walk off before turning her attention back to the lights. She barely has time to process her thoughts when a voice breaks the silence.

“Jean Kirstein  , huh?”

Her head snaps up, and she turns to see Eren leaning casually against the wall a few feet away. The shadows cast by the string lights dance across his face, accentuating the curve of his lips as he smiles. It’s a small smile, restrained, not quite reaching his eyes, but it’s beautiful in a way that makes her heart stutter.

“What about Jean?” she asks, her voice steady despite the sudden flutter in her chest.

Eren pushes off the wall, his movements unhurried as he walks toward her. “You two seem close.”

Mikasa blinks, her brow furrowing slightly. “We’re just...friends.”

“Right,” Eren says as he crouches beside her. His hands move to lift a particularly stubborn knot of wires. “Here, let me help.”

Their fingers brush, a fleeting touch that sends an unexpected jolt through her. It’s electric, and for a brief moment, she sees something. It’s her and Eren again. She's learned to anticipate the visions now, to hold onto the fragments of them as long as she can.

When the vision fades, Mikasa looks up, her breath caught in her throat. Eren is staring at her.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

Mikasa nods, her voice caught somewhere between her mind and her heart. “I...yeah.”

“Good. Because I think we should untangle this mess."

Eren settles into a crouch beside Mikasa. His eyes drift to her hands as she untangles another string of lights.

“Do you ever get tired of being good at everything?” he asks.

Mikasa glances up, caught off guard by the question. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says, looking away. “You’re good at fighting. You learned pretty fast from me. You're good at school from what I've seen so far, good at, apparently, unraveling holiday lights.”

Mikasa huffs a quiet laugh, her cheeks warming “I’m not good at everything.”

“Name one thing,” Eren challenges, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping slightly.

She pauses. “Cooking,” she admits finally.

Eren raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

She nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “My mom tried to teach me once. It didn’t end well.”

Eren chuckles. “Maybe you just need the right teacher.”

The way he says it makes her stomach flip, but she forces herself to stay composed. She changes the subject. He has a girlfriend. He should not be making her smile like this. "Where’s Historia?” she asks, looking up at him.

Eren’s smile falters for just a moment before it returns, softer now. “She’s staying with her dad for a while. At the Reiss estate.”

Mikasa nods, her fingers working through another knot in the wires, though her thoughts are elsewhere.

The room grows quieter, the noise of the others fading into the background. After a beat, Eren shifts, his knee brushing hers lightly. “I know you're good enough to stand on your own now, but training together...you still up for it?”

Mikasa glances at him, her eyebrows lifting slightly. “You still want to train me?”

“Of course,” he says, tilting his head. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well,” Mikasa starts, hesitating for a moment, “you all but threatened me when you found out you were going to be my partner.”

Eren winces, a sheepish smile forming on his face. “Yeah, I never did apologize for that. Or for a lot of things, really.”

Mikasa tilts her head slightly, watching him as he leans his forearms on his knees. He seems different now—more open, though she can’t quite pinpoint why.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause. “For the way I treated you when you just got here. I was rude, stubborn, and...I don’t really have an excuse for it. You were dealing with a lot and I should have been more considerate. And I was kind of a dick."

Mikasa blinks, and she shakes her head slightly. “It’s fine,” she says, her voice just above a whisper. “You’ve done more good for me since then than I can count.”

Eren’s eyes hold hers for a moment. “Still,” he murmurs, “I needed to say it. I'm sorry for everything."

The way he says it makes her pulse skip, and Mikasa swallows thickly, turning her attention back to the lights. Eren shifts again, leaning closer.

"Do you forgive me, Mikasa?" he asks.

She smiles slightly. "It's not going to be that easy," she says.

"I'll do anything."

She looks up at him, and the intensity in his gaze makes her heart stop.

Anything.

Her pulse races.

"We should get these lights finished," she says, her voice coming out a little softer than she intended.

"Right." Eren straightens, turning his attention to the wires.

A few minutes pass and Mikasa feels uncomfortable. She glances around, looking for Jean, but he's nowhere to be found. She looks back down at the tangled mess in her hands, chewing on her lip. “I’ll return your scarf to you tomorrow,” she says, almost as if the words hurt to form.

“No,” Eren says quickly. “Don’t. It’s yours. I like the way it looks on you.”

Her heart skips a beat at his words, and she looks back up to find him watching her, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Uh, thank you,” she says softly.

He nods and Mikasa inhales deeply. The air is charged with something she doesn't fully understand yet, but is not quite ready to let go.

The harsh sound of retching fills the bathroom, echoing against the tiled walls. Historia clings to the porcelain rim of the toilet, her body trembling as another wave of nausea wracks her. Tears streak down her cheeks, mingling with the sweat on her pale skin. She gags, her stomach twisting painfully, but there’s nothing left to bring up.

The image of the girl’s tear-streaked face is seared into her mind. The blood—thick, red, and too real—clings to her thoughts like a stain she’ll never wash away. She can still hear the girl's cries, the desperate pleas for mercy that Historia ignored, knife in hand.

She collapses back against the cool bathroom wall, dragging air into her lungs in uneven gasps. Her fingers tremble as they reach for her phone lying on the floor nearby. She grabs it, her vision blurring with fresh tears as she unlocks the screen. Her thumb hovers over the contacts, scrolling mindlessly at first, then slowing as a name she knows too well appears.

Ymir.

Her chest tightens, a lump forming in her throat. She shouldn’t call. Ymir doesn’t like to talk to her anymore. Not since…well, not since Historia became everything she swore she’d never be. She wouldn’t be surprised if Ymir hated her now, wanted nothing to do with her. But God, she misses her.

Before she can think better of it, her thumb presses the call button. The phone rings once. Twice. It continues for a few seconds.

Voicemail.

The automated message stabs through her like ice, but Historia doesn’t hang up. Her lips tremble as she brings the phone closer, her voice breaking as she speaks.

“I’m sorry, Ymir,” she whispers, the words spilling out like a confession. “I need you. I know I’ve been… I’ve been the worst girlfriend, the worst person. But there’s so much I don’t know how to deal with. I…”

She trails off, choking on a sob.

“I miss you,” she finally says, her voice barely audible. “I miss you so much.”

Historia hangs up abruptly, clutching the phone to her chest. Her body feels heavy, her limbs sluggish as she drags herself to her feet. The walk back to her bedroom feels endless, her legs shaky beneath her. When she reaches her bed, she collapses onto it, curling up against the sheets. She squeezes her eyes shut, willing sleep to take her, to free her from the torment of her thoughts.

Frieda.

The name slips into her mind unbidden, and she clings to it like a prayer. Wherever her sister is, Historia hopes she’s safe. She hopes it’s not too late to find her, to fix what’s broken.

Tears dampen the pillow beneath her as she drifts into sleep.

When Historia wakes up, her stomach growls faintly, but she ignores it, sitting up slowly and rubbing her eyes. The room is dark and the sound of rain outside fills the space.

Just like the night she killed that girl.

Her phone blinks beside her. She picks it up, squinting against the harsh glare of the screen. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees the missed calls—from Ymir.

And then the texts:

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the dorms. You didn’t say you were leaving.”

“Historia. Answer me.”

The next few are spaced farther apart.

“I’m at the tunnels. Where are you?”

Her heart drops. The tunnels.

Frieda had told her about those tunnels and Historia had snuck Ymir into the estate through them a few times. Eren had spilled blood and ended lives in those tunnels.

But Ymir is there now. Waiting.

Historia doesn’t waste another second. She throws the phone aside, scrambling out of bed. Her slippers are at the foot of the bed, and she slides into them. A coat is draped over a nearby chair, and she grabs it, shrugging it on as she makes her way to the door.

The halls of the estate are quiet. Her father isn’t home tonight—thankfully—but the guards are still present. Their predictable rotations are her only chance at escape. She moves cautiously, her slippers muffling her steps on the polished floors.

At the top of the staircase, she pauses, peering down into the expansive foyer. A single guard stands at the main entrance. Her route is clear in her mind—a servant’s door in the kitchen leads to the garden, and from there, the perimeter fence.

Historia descends the stairs slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. The guard doesn’t look up. She ducks into the hallway leading to the kitchen. It's dark so she navigates the room by memory, finding the narrow door at the back. It creaks softly as she pushes it open, the sound making her freeze for a heartbeat. But no one comes.

Outside, the rain greets her in a cold rush, soaking her slippers and dampening her hair almost immediately. She pulls the hood of her coat up and heads toward the garden, the shadows of tall hedges her only cover. The fence looms ahead, slick with rainwater.

There’s a loose section near the base, a secret she and Ymir had exploited more than once. She crouches, pushing aside the damp leaves and slipping through the gap. Mud clings to her hands and knees, but she doesn’t stop to brush it off.

The tunnels aren’t far, just beyond the estate grounds. The path is uneven, made worse by the rain, and she stumbles more than once, catching herself on tree trunks and wet grass. By the time she reaches the entrance, her heart is racing, and her clothes are soaked through.

The mouth of the tunnel yawns before her. A faint glow of light comes from deeper inside, and her breath hitches. Ymir.

“Ymir?” she calls, her voice trembling as it echoes against the stone walls.

At first, there’s no response, just the relentless drip of rainwater. But then, a figure steps out of the shadows. Ymir’s silhouette is unmistakable, the long, lean lines of her body moving forward. Her hair is damp and clinging to her face.

“You sure took your time,” she says.

Historia exhales sharply, tears welling up in her eyes. “Ymir…”

Ymir steps forward, closing the distance between them. Without hesitation, her hands come up to cradle Historia's face, her calloused fingers surprisingly gentle against rain-chilled skin.

Before Historia can say a word, Ymir leans in and kisses her. It's gentler than the last kiss they shared, in the tent. That had been angry, filled with hurt and frustration. This is different. It's soft and achingly familiar. It's everything she's been missing. The kiss tastes of rain and salt, of sorrow and longing, and it leaves Historia breathless.

When Ymir finally pulls back, her forehead rests lightly against Historia’s, and her voice is a low murmur.

“I missed you too.”

Chapter Text

Rain drums steadily against the roof of the backyard house, a lull that seems to cocoon the world outside. The air inside the small room is filled with the scent of damp wood and faint traces of dust, though the warmth from their shared body heat makes it feel comforting. The bed creaks softly as Historia shifts, straddling Ymir.

Her hands rest lightly on Ymir’s chest as she leans down to kiss her. Ymir responds in kind, her hands sliding up to settle on Historia’s hips. When they part, Ymir’s lips curve into a lazy smile.

“I missed you," she says.

Historia groans playfully, her cheeks tinged pink. “I heard you the first three hundred times.”

They chuckle together, the sound muffled by the walls and the rain in the quiet room. Historia shifts again, lying beside Ymir as their laughter fades into soft breaths. Her eyes wander, tracing the familiar cracks in the ceiling and the faint scuff marks on the walls. This house holds so many memories—bittersweet ones she’s tried to bury.

“This house…” she murmurs, her voice trailing off.

Ymir turns her head, watching her. “What about it?”

“It’s where he kept me when I first got here,” Historia says. “Back when I was just a secret. Before he decided I was worth something.” She swallows hard. “Before I became his heir.”

Ymir frowns slightly, reaching out to tuck a strand of damp hair behind Historia’s ear. “Do you miss it?”

Historia nods faintly. “Sometimes. Back then, I was nobody. It wasn’t good, but it was... simpler.”

The rain intensifies. Ymir’s hand lingers on Historia’s cheek, her thumb brushing gently against her skin.

“What happened?” she asks softly, breaking the quiet. “Why did you send me that message? You sounded… lost.”

Historia closes her eyes, her chest tightening. “It’s a lot, Ymir,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

Ymir sits up slightly, leaning over to press her forehead to Historia’s. “I’m here,” she says. “You know you can tell me anything. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Historia exhales shakily, her fingers tangling in Ymir’s shirt as she clings to her. For a moment, she lets herself be held, lets herself feel the safety and comfort of her girlfriend's presence.

Then, her voice wavers as she speaks.

"Frieda didn't run away like I told you she did." She pauses, trying to keep her voice from cracking. "She went missing...and I think my dad had something to do with it."

Ymir’s brows knit together, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been trying to piece it together,” Historia continues, her words spilling out now like a dam breaking. “She was the one person who made me feel… normal. Loved. And then one day, she’s just gone. No goodbye, no explanation. Just—gone. Everyone believes she ran off. My dad told everyone that. He likes to act like she never existed."

Ymir frowns, her fingers brushing through Historia's hair. "Are you sure?" she asks. "Are you sure he had something to do with her disappearance?"

Historia nods. "Frieda got involved in shady parts of the family's business. I think it was too much for her. I think she saw things she couldn't handle." Her voice breaks and she shivers slightly.

"Breathe."

Historia takes a deep breath and hesitates. "My dad is a monster, Ymir. A monster. And now, I'm really his daughter..." She trails off, the words stuck in her throat.

Ymir leans closer, pressing her lips to Historia's forehead. "You're not a monster."

"But I am," Historia whispers. "I've done things. Terrible things. Things you wouldn't believe if I told you."

Ymir tilts her head, searching Historia's face. "I don't care. Whatever it is, whatever you've done. I don't care."

Historia’s breath hitches, and before she can think, Ymir closes the gap between them, kissing her. It's gentle and soft, teasing Historia's lips open, coaxing her to let go. Her hand comes up to cup the back of Historia's neck.

Historia sighs into the kiss, her arms wrapping around Ymir's waist. The knot in her chest eases, and she lets her worries fall away, just for a moment. When they part, Historia can't help but smile.

"I'm so sorry I pushed you away," she says softly. “I wanted to keep you safe. Once I became heir, everything changed. I wasn’t just the illegitimate daughter anymore. I was a pawn, a tool for whatever game he’s playing. And I couldn’t let you get dragged into it. Not you.”

Ymir’s expression hardens, her jaw tightening. “You don’t get to decide that for me."

“I know,” Historia whispers, tears welling in her eyes. “I know. But I was scared."

Ymir’s eyes narrow slightly. "Did you date Yeager just to push me away too?"

Historia exhales shakily. “Yes. I made him date me—forced him into the fake relationship, really. It was the only way to keep people from asking questions. To keep my dad from finding out…”

“That you’re a lesbian,” Ymir finishes quietly.

The word creates a spark inside Historia. For so long, it's been a dirty, shameful thing—something she tried desperately to bury and hide. Something she thought would make her an outcast if anyone knew.

But the way Ymir says it is different. It's a simple truth, not an insult.

Historia nods, her gaze fixed on the floor. Her hands tremble slightly as they cling to Ymir.

"I'm sorry," Historia murmurs. "I'm so sorry for everything."

"I know," Ymir says softly. "It's okay. I'm sorry too. I was an ass and I didn't see what was going on. I didn't try to understand you. You must have been so scared, beautiful."

Historia swallows, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ymir presses her lips to them, kissing the tears away.

"We'll get through this," she murmurs "Whatever happens, we'll get through it."

"You really want to do this?" Historia whispers. "Stay with me, after everything?"

Ymir pulls back just enough to look at her, their eyes meeting. "Yeah," she says. "I do."

The chambers underneath the library have been transformed into a Halloween haven. Strings of orange and purple lights crisscross overhead, paper bats dangle from the ceiling, and cobwebs—both real and fake—stretch across windows and furniture. A cluster of carved pumpkins lines the far wall, their jagged grins flickering with candlelight.

It’s simple but charming, with a homemade feel. The snack table is piled with chips, cookies, and a punch bowl dyed a deep, ominous red. Someone even brought a smoke machine, and the thin fog it produces creeps lazily along the floor.

Mikasa surveys the scene. Tonight, her costume is raven-inspired, with dark, feathered wings strapped to her back and a matching mask. She scans the crowd, looking for a familiar face.

There are a few of them, some of them are people she's taken classes with. She doesn't realize she's looking for Eren until it's pretty clear he isn't here, and she can't help but feel a little disappointed.

Sasha is right next to her, and she looks over at Mikasa, nudging her. “Not bad, huh?” She says. “All our hard work actually paid off.”

Mikasa nods, allowing herself a small smile. "It’s better than I expected. But are you sure the teachers won’t find out about this?"

Tonight, Sasha is dressed like her favorite restaurant's mascot, a cute bear who wears a chef's hat and wields a ladle. "Oh, Jean already took care of that. He’s good at this kind of stuff."

Mikasa raises a brow. "Took care of it how?"

Sasha leans in. "Simple. Sneak a couple of bottles of alcohol to a guard here and there, the porters in charge of the dorms, and suddenly no one’s mentioning a party to anyone."

"Bribing them with alcohol? Isn’t that risky?"

"Not as much as you’d think. Our seniors used to do it all the time. It’s kind of like... tradition now. Keeps the peace, you know?"

Before Mikasa can respond, Sasha says, "Let’s get something to eat and drink." She pulls her toward the snack table. But halfway there, Sasha spots someone waving at her from across the room. "Go on without me! Gather as many chips as you can for me. I’ll catch up!"

Mikasa sighs but nods, moving through the clusters of guests on her own. She takes in the sights and smells of the party. It's loud, with the chatter of voices and the music from the speakers competing for attention. When she reaches the snack table and picks up a cup, she fills it with the red punch. The smell of alcohol hits her as soon as she lifts the cup to her lips. She glances at the bowl, noting the faint layer of condensation clinging to its surface. She looks away and back at the crowd, her gaze settling on a lone figure by the far wall.

A figure, tall and broad-shouldered, stands at the edge of the room, dressed in a tailored suit with a wolf mask obscuring the upper half of his face. The mask’s silver sheen glints in the candlelight. His movements are slow as though he’s observing the room rather than participating in the festivities.

Before Mikasa looks away, he walks up to her.

"Quite the beauty," he says in a smooth, deep voice. He gestures to the room, then to her. "The decorations and the party, I mean. Though I suppose the same could be said about you."

Mikasa stiffens slightly, unsure how to respond. "Thank you. It took a lot of work," she replies curtly, her eyes flicking to his mask. "The decorations and the party, I mean."

He nods. "I can tell." His gaze—or what she assumes is his gaze—lingers on her costume. "You’re a bird?"

"A raven actually," she replies cautiously. "And you’re a wolf."

He smiles faintly, tilting his head. "A wolf among sheep, I suppose. It felt...appropriate."

There’s something in his tone that makes her stomach twist. She forces a polite smile and sips her drink, hoping he’ll move on, but he doesn’t.

"What about you?" he asks. "What does a raven mean to you?"

"It doesn’t mean anything," Mikasa says. "It’s just a costume."

"Is it?" he muses, stepping slightly closer.

Mikasa shifts uncomfortably, her eyes scanning the room for Sasha, but her friend is nowhere in sight.

"Did you know that sometimes," the stranger continues, his tone dropping lower, "the answers to the questions we have are right in front of us?"

Her chest tightens. "What are you talking about?"

"Your daydreams," he says casually, as if discussing the weather. "Those things you see, the things you can’t explain. Do you still believe they’re not real?"

Mikasa’s blood runs cold. How does he know?

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," she says stiffly.

The man chuckles softly. "Maybe not. Or maybe you’re just afraid of the answer." He pauses, leaning slightly closer. "You’re scared of accepting that there’s a connection between you and Eren Yeager."

“W-what?”

“There’s a reason he’s the only one you see.”

Before she can respond, the man turns, leaving her standing alone. She watches him melt into the crowd like a shadow, her heart racing.

Her pulse races as she searches for him, but he’s gone. The room feels suddenly smaller.

Who was that?

“Hey!”

Sasha’s voice startles her. Mikasa flinches slightly before schooling her expression, turning to find her friend approaching with an easy grin.

“You okay? You looked like you were spacing out.” Sasha nudges her lightly.

“I’m fine,” Mikasa says quickly, too quickly. She forces a faint smile. “Just tired, I guess.”

Sasha raises an eyebrow but doesn’t press. Instead, she gestures toward the drink table. “Come on, let’s grab as many snacks as we can and bring some back for Jean and Connie. They’re over there holding court.”

She nods toward a cluster of people near the far wall, where Jean and Connie are standing. Jean is dressed as a cowboy, complete with a fraying hat and toy revolvers holstered at his sides. He looks like he stepped out of a thrift store Western, but he’s pulling it off with his usual confidence.

Connie, on the other hand, has gone all out. He’s dressed as a mummy, layers of bandages wrapped haphazardly around his frame. He’s grinning as he waves his arms theatrically, making his audience laugh.

Mikasa nods, letting Sasha take the lead. The air smells faintly of spiced cider and artificial fog. As they pour drinks into plastic cups—red for Jean, black for Connie—Mikasa’s mind drifts back to her encounter with the man in the wolf mask. His words play on repeat in her head: Those things you see, the things you can’t explain. Do you still believe they’re not real?

She thinks about the visions, the strange and vivid moments that have haunted her sleep and slipped into her waking thoughts. For weeks, she had convinced herself they were just figments of her imagination—stress, exhaustion, maybe even something wrong with her. But now…

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” Sasha’s voice cuts through her thoughts again. Mikasa realizes she’s been holding the cider jug in mid-air for far too long.

“Yeah,” she mutters, setting it down quickly. “Just distracted.”

Sasha tilts her head, giving her a quizzical look but doesn’t push further. “Well, come on, let’s deliver these before Jean starts whining about how thirsty he is.”

Mikasa follows Sasha, their steps crunching softly over the fake cobwebs and decorations scattered across the floor. But her thoughts are elsewhere. If the man knew about her visions—knew what she’d been seeing—did that mean they were real? That they weren’t just in her head?

And what is the connection between her and Eren?

Outside the library, the cool night air is heavy with the scent of rain-soaked earth. Raindrops bead on the dark stone, glinting like tiny diamonds under the moonlight. A wide veranda stretches out before the entrance, its overhang providing some respite from the persistent drizzle.

Eren leans against one of the stone columns, his leather jacket damp at the shoulders from the misty rain. His brow is furrowed as he watches Historia step closer, her hand clasped tightly in Ymir’s.

“You know Erwin’s not going to like this,” he says, narrowing his eyes.

Historia doesn’t flinch. Instead, she lifts her chin. “I trust Ymir.”

Ymir, standing beside her, shifts slightly, the black armor of her knight costume catching the light. She looks like a figure pulled from a dark fairy tale. Historia on the other hand, looks different. Her hair is braided and coiled atop her hair. The wings strapped to her back glow with the light of the lanterns lining the veranda. The flower crown atop her golden hair looks fragile, but her expression is anything but.

Eren scoffs.

He doesn't miss the irony. A knight and an angel, standing together, against him.

Eren clicks his tongue, glancing sideways at Armin, who is watching them, fiddling with the wand tucked into his waistcoat pocket. Dressed as a magician, Armin looks both out of place and oddly fitting outside the library. His cape flutters slightly in the breeze.

Eren exhales heavily and mutters, “Fine. It’s whatever.”

Historia’s frown deepens, her hand tightening around Ymir’s. “I wanted to tell you something,” she says.

Eren’s gaze sharpens, his green eyes locking onto hers. “What is it?”

She hesitates, glancing at Ymir. “My father…” she begins, her voice faltering for a moment before she steadies herself. “I visited the old Reiss estate with him. It's the same as the church. There are people being held against their will in those places."

Eren's jaw tightens. "And?"

“They might need help."

Eren doesn’t immediately respond. His green eyes flick to her, then to Ymir. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck, his leather jacket creaking with the motion.

“Our objective is to find Frieda,” he says finally, his tone flat, almost dismissive.

Historia’s jaw tightens. “But those people—”

“Need help. I know,” Eren cuts in. He shakes his head. “But we can’t spend all our time taking side quests, Historia. We need to stay focused—find Frieda or find out about the source replication. If we do, we can even save all of them at once.”

Historia’s glare hardens. Ymir steps closer, her expression darkening. “You really don’t care about anyone but yourself, do you?” she asks.

Eren’s gaze snaps to her, his eyes narrowing. “I didn’t survive this long by trying to save everyone,” he says coldly.

Without another word, he turns on his heel and strides back toward the library entrance. The rain catches on his dark hair, the droplets sliding down his face as he pushes the heavy wooden door open and disappears inside.

Partnering with Erwin had been easy. The man is cold, calculating, and ruthless when he needs to be. Eren doesn't ever have to question Erwin's motives or morals. He trusts him. Historia on the other hand has always had the tendency to care more than she should, and the new addition of her girlfriend only seemed to complicate matters.

Eren’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, frowning slightly as he stares at the screen.

Mikasa.

The name flashes in bold letters. He hesitates for a second, then swipes to answer. “Hello?” 

There’s a faint rustle on the other end, followed by a pause that feels far too long. When the voice comes, it’s not Mikasa’s.

“It was a mistake to burn the church,” the man’s voice is cold. “I’d like to see how you feel when the girl you love gets the same treatment.”

Eren’s breath catches, his grip tightening on the phone. His free hand clenches into a fist at his side as he asks. “Who the hell is this?” 

Chapter Text

The line goes dead.

For a moment, Eren stands frozen. The faint murmur of the party filters through the walls, but it feels distant, muted by the thundering in his chest.

Eren shoves the phone back into his pocket. The words from the call echo in his head. The girl you love. The threat feels like ice running through his veins.

“Eren?” Armin’s voice calls. He steps into the library with Historia and Ymir close behind. “Why are you just standing there?"

Eren moves. He strides past the towering shelves, pushing a hidden lever behind one of the old lamps. The panel in the wall creaks open, revealing a narrow staircase that leads to the chambers below. “We need to find Mikasa,” he says, not sparing a glance back.

“Wait, what do you mean?” Armin asks, hurrying after him. “Eren!”

But Eren is already descending, his footsteps echoing in the stone stairwell as he practically flies down the steps. The sounds from the party grows louder as he nears the chambers. His mind is a chaotic swirl of thoughts: Mikasa’s name, the man’s voice on the phone, the horrifying possibilities he can’t push away.

If someone took her. If they touch her...

He can barely breathe, but his pace doesn't falter. The panic surging through his veins is familiar, the rush of adrenaline that comes with fear.

The moment he reaches the bottom of the stairs, the scene before him seems to snap into focus. People are moving, chattering, laughing. There are voices and music, the sounds of the party drifting through the room. Eren’s eyes dart around the crowd, scanning faces. He has no idea what costume Mikasa is wearing, no clue where she might be, and the panic gnaws at him like a living thing.

He pushes past a group of people dressed as vampires and witches, ignoring their annoyed glances. A girl in a sparkly cat costume stops mid-laugh to stare as he rushes by. The scents of popcorn and sugary drinks mix with the faint metallic tang of sweat in the crowded air, but Eren barely registers it.

Where is she?

He searches the dance floor, the bar, the corners where people gather in small groups. His heart hammers against his ribs, every beat feeling heavier, louder, with each second she’s not in sight.

In a corner of the room, he spots Sasha, Connie and Jean sitting on a plush couch.

And right next to them...her.

Mikasa is sitting on the edge of the couch, her body relaxed as she leans back slightly. Her laughter reaches him even over the music. She’s dressed as a raven—dark feathers adorning her shoulders and her eyes framed by soft, smoky makeup. Her hair falls loose down her back, and she looks... beautiful.

Beside her, Jean sits in his own costume—a dashing cowboy. He’s gesturing animatedly, clearly the source of Mikasa’s laughter.

Eren slows, his chest heaving as relief washes over him in an almost overwhelming wave. For a moment, he just stands there, staring. He can’t even muster the irritation he usually feels seeing her with Jean. Not in this moment, not when she looks so carefree, so pretty.

She’s safe.

His shoulders sag slightly, and the tension begins to unwind from his body. 

Mikasa notices him almost immediately. Her laughter softens as she looks over and waves at him. Her smile lingers, but Eren’s eyes flick to Jean, who’s already noticed him too.

Jean shifts closer to Mikasa, his arm brushing hers as he leans in slightly. The movement is subtle, but it feels pointed to Eren. He clenches his jaw, his hand curling into a fist at his side before he forces himself to relax. Without hesitating, he walks toward them.

Mikasa tilts her head as he approaches. “Eren,” she greets.

“You called me,” he says flatly.

Her brow furrows slightly. “I did?”

He pulls out his phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe and holding it up to show her the call log. Her name is right there, the timestamp staring back at her. Mikasa blinks as she leans forward to get a better look.

“Oh,” she murmurs. “I must’ve butt-dialed you or something.” She pats her pockets, first her coat draped over the arm of the couch and then her costume, frowning when she doesn’t find her phone.

“Can’t find it?” Jean asks.

“No,” Mikasa says, shaking her head. She stands, brushing down her skirt as she starts to look around. “It’s not here.”

Eren watches silently, his eyes narrowing slightly as Sasha and Connie join in the search. Sasha crouches down to peer under the couch while Connie picks up discarded cushions.

“It’s not here,” Sasha announces, standing and dusting off her knees.

Mikasa turns to Eren, her dark eyes meeting his. “When you answered the call, was anyone on the other end?”

For a fraction of a second, Eren hesitates. The memory of the man’s voice slithers into his thoughts, but he quickly stamps it down. He shakes his head. “No,” he lies smoothly. “Didn’t hear anything. That's why I came to find you.”

Mikasa pouts slightly, her lips pressing together. “I must’ve misplaced it somewhere.”

“It’s fine,” Sasha chimes in cheerfully, clapping her hands together. “We can call it and split up to look for it. We’ll find it in no time!”

Jean straightens, about to say something but Eren beats him to it. “I’ll go with you,” he says, stepping closer and holding out his hand to Mikasa. “We need to talk about something anyway.”

For a moment, the group falls silent. All eyes shift to Mikasa, who looks up at him. She studies him for a beat longer than he expects, but then she reaches out and takes his hand.

“Okay,” she says softly. She looks back at the others, offering a small smile. “Thanks, guys.”

Sasha grins. “Don’t thank us yet! We'll find it, don't worry.”

Mikasa smiles at her. Eren's focus remains on their joined hands. Her fingers are so delicate, almost fragile compared to his. He doesn't miss how well they fit against his palm. Butterflies flutter in his stomach, but he ignores them.

"Come on," he says, giving her hand a light tug. "We should hurry."

She nods and follows him without question. Her hand is warm in his, and her proximity makes his heart beat faster. They walk together through the clusters of people and the hazy smoke. The air is thick with the smell of popcorn, cider, and the sharp bite of alcohol.

Eren reluctantly lets go off her hand to take out his phone. He dials Mikasa's number. It doesn't ring.

"Must have died," he says, glancing sideways at her.

Mikasa frowns, chewing her lower lip. Eren watches the movement. "That's weird," she mutters. "I charged it before I left the room."

“When was the last time you saw it?” he asks.

Mikasa pauses, thinking, her gaze flicking to the floor as if retracing her steps. “At the snack table,” she says finally.

Eren's focus narrows on the snack table at the end of the room. Two students are leaning over the table, chatting animatedly while they sip punch. Eren walks over to it and scans the area, the tabletop cluttered with empty plastic cups and a few abandoned napkins. “Did you drop it here or someone?”

Mikasa tilts her head, her brow furrowing as she considers. “No,” she says slowly. “I came to get the drinks, and I felt it in my pocket then, so I didn’t think much about it.”

Eren swallows. “Did you talk to anyone?”

Her gaze snaps to his. “Why are you asking me that? Do you think someone stole it?”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening as he looks away. Finally, he exhales and shakes his head. “I just think someone might’ve seen it, that's all,” he says.

He turns to one of the students, a tall figure dressed as some superhero with a cape that flutters faintly as he moves. “Hey, have you seen a phone around here?”

The guy glances over, as he shakes his head. “Nah, man. Sorry.”

Eren sighs and pulls his phone from his pocket, dialing Mikasa’s number again. He holds it to his ear, waiting to hear a vibration or chime, but the line stays silent. His shoulders tense.

“Eren!”

He spins at the sound of his name, brows furrowing as Armin approaches. Armin’s face is flushed and his costume is slightly askew. He holds something in his hand.

“Some guy in a werewolf costume said I should give this to you,” he says.

Eren’s breath catches as he stares at it and Mikasa’s eyes widen as she steps forward.

“That’s mine,” she says, taking it from Armin with a small smile of relief. She inspects it briefly, her fingers brushing over the screen. “Why would anyone ask you to give it to Eren?”

Eren freezes. His mind races as he pieces it together.

Someone knows.

Someone knows he was at the church. Someone knows what he did—knows about the fire, about the blood on his hands. They know about Mikasa, about how he feels for her. They know about Armin.

Eren’s teeth clench as his fingers curl into fists at his sides. Someone is playing a dangerous game, pulling strings just close enough to taunt him without revealing themselves. Whoever they are, they’re using the people he cares about to get to him, to pass him a message.

The thudding bass of the music dies in an instant, cutting off mid-beat, leaving the chamber in tense silence. A voice rises above the crowd.

“Levi’s on his way with the Principal and security! He found out about the party!”

For a moment, the world seems to freeze. Then, chaos erupts.

People scream and push through the dense crowd, scrambling toward the different exits like panicked animals. Plastic cups and costumes are abandoned as bodies jostle and shove. The sound of hurried footsteps and strained voices filling the cavernous space.

Eren grabs Mikasa’s hand tightly and glances at Armin. “Come on!” he barks, pulling her through the fray.

Mikasa stumbles slightly at first, caught off guard, but she quickly matches his pace. Around them, the crowd surges like a living tide, everyone moving with a singular goal: escape.

Eren leads them toward one of the smaller exits, moving through the mass of bodies. He uses his free hand to push people aside. Mikasa and Armin stay close as they move.

The exit looms ahead, a narrow stone passageway lit dimly by a string of flickering lights. People are pouring through it, the bottleneck creating a brief pause as everyone tries to squeeze through at once. Eren growls in frustration but doesn’t let go of Mikasa as they push forward.

Once they’re through, the air feels cooler, the faint night breeze filtering in from somewhere up ahead. The sound of hurried footsteps echoes off the stone walls as they sprint down the corridor.

Finally, they emerge outside into the open night. The chill air hits Eren’s face, and he glances around quickly, assessing their surroundings. The area is dimly lit by scattered lamps.

"Where's Armin?" he asks.

He and Mikasa glance back, looking for their friend. But he's nowhere in sight.

"Oh God," Mikasa mutters. "Maybe he didn't make it out with us."

Eren sighs. "If he gets caught, Levi will make him do a thousand push-ups." He pulls out his phone, quickly dialing Armin’s number. The line rings twice before there's an answer.

"Hello!"

"Where are you?" Eren asks.

“We got separated in the crowd. Don’t worry. I found Annie. We're sneaking to the gym to hide out.”

Eren exhales. “Stay there,” he says. “I’ll meet you.”

He ends the call and turns to Mikasa, ready to explain, but his words catch in his throat as he spots something out of the corner of his eye: flashlights sweeping across the nearby buildings.

“Shit,” he mutters, grabbing Mikasa’s hand again.

He pulls her toward a narrow alley between the library and the art building. The walls are close on either side, the air damp and heavy with the smell of wet stone. Eren presses Mikasa against the wall, his body shielding hers as they crouch low.

The space between them is almost nonexistent, her breath warm against his neck, mingling with his own uneven exhalations. His hand rests on the wall beside her head, the other still gripping hers tightly.

He shouldn’t be thinking about it—not now, not here—but he can’t help it. Her face is so close, her dark eyes shining faintly, her lips parted slightly as she tries to catch her breath. Eren clenches his jaw, forcing himself to focus, but the proximity is suffocating, intoxicating.

Mikasa's eyes meet his. For a moment, the world around them seems to fade, the chaos and the panic forgotten. Her hand trembles slightly as she raises it, touching his cheek gently.

"You're bleeding," she murmurs.

Eren blinks. His fingers touch his temple and come away smeared with red. He must have gotten hit by something during the rush, though he can't recall the pain. "It's nothing," he says.

He can't tear his eyes away from her, can't ignore the way her breath is ghosting over his lips, can't ignore the desire coiling in his stomach. There are so many things he loves about Mikasa but right now, it's the curve of her jaw and the way her hair frames her face. His gaze drops to her mouth, and suddenly, the urge to kiss her is overwhelming. He wants to. He really, really wants to.

But then the flashlight beams are right there, reflecting off the walls, and his thoughts scatter.

He glances over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. The beam of the flashlight is getting closer. Then it stops and swings back toward the library.

"Over here!" a voice calls.

The footsteps fade and the flashlights disappear, leaving the alley quiet once again. Eren exhales, turning back to Mikasa.

She's still looking at him, her dark eyes searching his face. He can't read her expression, doesn't know what she's thinking or feeling. He takes a step back and licks his lips, tasting iron.

"We should get going," he says, his voice sounding rough even to his own ears. He turns to leave the safety of the alley, but her voice stops him.

“Who am I to you?”

The question freezes him mid-step. He turns slowly. “What are you talking about?” he asks, frowning.

Mikasa doesn’t falter. Her eyes meet his. “The visions,” she says quietly. “I know they’re real now. I know you know what they are. I know you have some explanation for all of this.”

Eren’s fingers twitch at his side and the world shrinks to just the two of them.

“The man who stole my phone tonight,” she continues, stepping closer. “He asked Armin to give to you. That wasn't just some weird coincidence. He talked to me earlier too. He knew about the visions. He insinuated that we had some kind of connection. And you—” her voice rises slightly, trembling with frustration. “You’re hiding something. You know why I see the things I see, don't you?”

Eren's breath catches. For a moment, he doesn't speak, doesn't move. The world around them falls silent, and all he can hear is the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest.

She knows.

His eyes lock onto hers, searching, waiting. She's not backing down, not even for a second. The silence stretches between them, the tension like a coil, wound so tight it's ready to snap.

"I don't..." He hesitates, his voice faltering. "You're overthinking this and-"

"Don’t you dare, Eren," she cuts in sharply. "Don't you dare make me look crazy."

Eren looks away, his gaze dropping to the ground. His heart pounds against his ribs. How could he ever put it into words? How could he explain everything—her place in his world, his memories, the way she’s always been his anchor, his reason for fighting? How could he tell her the truth about who he is? What they share?

“I want to know,” Mikasa demands, her voice softer now, almost pleading. “Who am I to you?”

Chapter Text

The air between them is still and tense. A faint breeze carries the scent of rain and the rustling of leaves from the trees along the sidewalk. Eren stands at the end of the block, his shoulders hunched. For a moment, it seems like he's not going to answer, and Mikasa looks disappointed. His chest tightens. She's begging for answers he knows he can’t give. His mind begins to spiral, every thought screaming at him to run, to stop, to speak, to silence himself.

“No…” he whispers, his voice trembling as he takes a shaky step back. His hands curl into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

"No what?" she asks.

“No, you’re… no one. Not to me.”

Mikasa freezes, her body going unnaturally still as if the words have sucked the life out of her. “What?” she breathes, her voice barely audible.

Eren straightens, his shoulders squaring. His heart pounds like a war drum, each beat echoing in his skull as he forces himself to meet her gaze. What he's about to do will hurt him. But he has to.

"You need to stop being delusional. It makes you look crazy,” he says, his tone flat, devoid of the trembling panic clawing at his insides. “You've been hallucinating for weeks and bothering yourself with things that you think are real, but they're not. Nothing you've seen is real."

Mikasa's expression shifts, her eyes widening and her jaw tightening. A muscle twitches in her cheek. She's furious, and part of him feels guilty, but it's not enough to stop him.

"Your visions? They’re nothing. You don’t know who that man was earlier, and it doesn’t—”

“Shut up,” Mikasa cuts him off, her voice shaking. She stares at the ground, her fists clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles turn white.

Eren blinks, his breath hitching in his throat. “Mikasa—”

“I said, shut up!” she snaps, looking up at him. Her lips tremble. Tears stream down her face, carving silent paths down her cheeks.

Eren’s stomach churns. The sight of her like this guts him in a way he didn’t think was possible. His instincts betray him, and he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out instinctively.

But before he can get any closer, Mikasa draws her fist back and slams it into his face with everything she has.

The impact is sharp, immediate. Pain explodes across Eren’s nose as he staggers back, clutching his face with a groan. Warm and sticky blood trickles between his fingers as he steadies himself against the wall.

“You're a lying asshole,” Mikasa says, as she glares at him. “And you have no right to call me crazy.” Her fists tremble at her sides, her chest heaving.

Eren opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. He doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t even know where to start.

Without another word, Mikasa turns on her heel and walks away. Her silhouette disappears into the night, leaving Eren standing there, frozen and bleeding.

“No,” he whispers hoarsely, his voice cracking as he lurches forward. “No, wait!”

He stumbles after her, his legs unsteady beneath him, his hands reaching out to the empty air. “Mikasa, please,” he calls out. “I’m sorry—I’m just trying to protect you! I’m just…” His voice falters, and he comes to a halt, his knees buckling beneath him.

The cold ground meets him, and he lets out a choked sob. His hands claw at his hair as his head bows forward, his body shaking. The dam inside him finally breaks, and the tears come fast and hot, spilling down his face in torrents.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers brokenly, his voice muffled by the night. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

The words spill out over and over. Everything crashes down on him all at once, and he doesn't fight it.

He drowns in it.

The gym is quiet. Moonlight seeps in from the windows, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Armin sits on a cold, metal bench, his elbows propped on his knees as he rubs his tired eyes. A heavy yawn escapes him, and he quickly covers his mouth, glancing around nervously. It’s late, far too late for him to be here, but he needs to wait for Eren.

Where is he?

His gaze flickers around the space, landing on the hulking figures of Reiner and Bertholdt in the corner. They’re talking in hushed tones, and a chill runs down Armin’s spine. There’s something about the two of them that always sets him on edge. He shifts uncomfortably, but then his heart skips a beat.

Annie walks out of the locker room, the faint sound of her sneakers scuffing against the floor echoing in the space. Her platinum blonde hair catches the moonlight, strands falling effortlessly into her face. She’s taken off her costume and is now dressed casually in loose sweatpants and a fitted hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, revealing lean, toned arms.

To Armin, she’s perfect. She has been since the day she transferred to their school two years ago. Back then, he hadn’t been able to pinpoint why he was so drawn to her—the way she carried herself, perhaps, or was it her eyes? Now, as he watches her stride toward Reiner and Bertholdt, he knows it’s everything about her. And it’s only gotten worse over time.

She stops to speak with them, her voice too low for him to make out. Reiner says something, gesturing toward the door, and Annie nods.

Then, she looks at him.

Armin freezes, his stomach flipping. He swallows hard, his palms suddenly clammy as she starts walking toward him. His heart pounds in his chest, every step she takes seeming louder than it should be.

When she stops in front of him, he has to tilt his head to meet her eyes. “Those two want to head back to the dorms,” she says.

God, even her voice is perfect.

Armin clears his throat. His heart feels like it might burst from his chest at any second. His mouth opens and closes wordlessly. He tries again. “Oh, okay," he stammers. His throat is dry, so he clears it quickly, glancing between her and the others. “That’s fine. You can all go. I’m sure Eren will be here soon.”

Annie doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. She just stares at him, and Armin’s nerves spike. Why is she looking at him like that? Did he say something stupid?

Finally, Annie turns slightly, calling over her shoulder. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up later.”

Armin’s eyes widen in surprise. Reiner and Bertholdt exchange a look—one he can’t quite decipher—and then their gazes shift to him. Their narrowed eyes send another shiver down his spine, but he forces himself to look away as they leave, their heavy footsteps fading into the night.

The bench creaks slightly as Annie sits beside him, and Armin’s heart skips a beat. She's close, too close—and he’s hyper-aware of every little sound, from the soft rustle of her clothes to the quiet sigh she lets out.

He dares a glance at her, but her blue eyes are already fixed on him. His gaze drops immediately to his lap, his fingers twisting nervously. He’s never been good at handling this—her attention.

"Nice costume, Arlert," she says.

Armin glances down, and his face flushes. "Thank you," he says.

"It suits you," she says. “You look like you actually know a few tricks.”

He looks at her again, his cheeks burning. He's sure she can hear the erratic beating of his heart, but he forces himself to meet her gaze anyway. “I—uh—well, I don’t, really. It’s just… a costume,” he mutters.

Annie tilts her head slightly, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she studies him. “Maybe you should learn some,” she says. “You’d probably be good at it.”

Armin blinks, caught off guard. “You think so?”

She nods. “I’ve seen how you handle things in chemistry class. You’re good with your hands."

Armin’s face burns, and he quickly looks down at his hands, as if seeing them for the first time. The compliment feels too personal, too specific, and it sends his heart racing.

When he looks back up at her, she's smirking—a small curl of her lips—and Armin freezes. He’s never seen her smile before, not even a little. The sight of it feels like a rare glimpse of something hidden, something precious, and it leaves him momentarily stunned.

“What?” Annie asks, noticing his expression.

“N-Nothing,” Armin says quickly, his voice cracking slightly. He clears his throat, clutching his hat.

Suddenly, the gym door creaks open and Armin glances toward it, his heart lifting slightly as Eren stumbles in. Relief floods through him at first—he’s here. Safe. But as he stands and moves closer, the moon light reveals more.

There’s something wrong.

Eren’s face is pale, his lips pressed into a tight, trembling line. His eyes are empty. Hollow. They look past Armin as though he isn’t even there, as though nothing is. That dead, haunted look sends a chill down Armin’s spine, dragging him back to a memory he’s tried for years to bury. It’s the same look Eren wore all those years ago, when he first woke up after the accident.

“Eren?” Armin calls as he hurries over to his friend. “Hey, are you okay? What happened?”

Behind him, Annie stands, her arms crossed as she watches the two. After a moment, she steps toward the door. “I’m heading back to the dorms,” she says.

Armin turns briefly, offering her a small smile. “Thanks for staying, Annie. Really.”

She nods, and with one last glance at Eren, she slips out, the door closing behind her with a muted thud.

Armin’s focus snaps back to Eren, who still hasn’t said a word. Slowly, he reaches out, his hand brushing against Eren’s arm. “Come on, let’s sit down,” he says gently. “You look like you need to rest.”

Eren nods. His movements are sluggish and robotic as Armin guides him back toward the bench. As they near it, Eren suddenly stops.

Armin turns, his brow furrowed with concern. “Eren? What’s wrong?”

And then it happens—Eren breaks. A strangled sob tears from his throat, his shoulders shaking violently as his face crumples. Before Armin can react, Eren stumbles forward, collapsing into him. His head drops onto Armin’s shoulder, his weight nearly knocking him over as raw, broken cries fill the air.

“Eren!” Armin exclaims, his voice trembling with alarm. He tries to steady them both, but Eren is heavier than him and soon, their knees hit the gym floor with a dull thud.

Eren clings to Armin, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s okay,” Armin whispers, his voice cracking as he wraps his arms around Eren, holding him tightly. “You’re okay.”

But Eren shakes his head, his words coming out in a broken wail. “I—I can’t do this anymore… Armin, I c-can’t…”

The sight of Eren crumbling like this is unreal. Eren isn’t supposed to cry. Not since the accident. Not since he became this unyielding, distant version of himself. Armin knows this Eren as cold, and unflinching—someone who seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint. Seeing him now, broken and vulnerable, feels like staring at a crack in stone, and it leaves Armin deeply unsettled.

Eren sniffles and leans back, his breath uneven as he rubs at his swollen eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice hoarse.

Armin shakes his head quickly, offering a faint smile. “It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone you’re a crybaby,” he says.

Eren lets out a quiet snicker, and for a moment, the tension eases. Armin shifts, sitting cross-legged in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees as he leans in slightly. “What happened?” he asks.

Eren exhales slowly, his shoulders slumping as he seems to wrestle with himself. Finally, he looks at Armin. In his eyes, there's something Armin can’t quite place. “In my original life,” Eren begins, “there were things I had to do… for the people I loved. For all of you.” He pauses, his jaw tightening. “Things you’ll probably start seeing in those visions soon.”

Armin’s brows furrow. “What things? What did you have to do?”

Eren looks away, his hands resting limply on his knees. “I had to kill a lot of people, had to push everyone I cared about away,” he says. “Because when the end came, I needed you all to be able to let go of me. Easily.”

Armin’s breath catches. “Me and Mikasa too?”

Eren nods, his gaze distant as he stares at the floor. “Yeah… you and Mikasa too.” His voice falters for a moment before he continues. “Mikasa… she’s…” He swallows hard, his throat bobbing. “Mikasa is the absolute love of my life.”

Armin’s eyes widen slightly, but he stays silent.

“It took me a long time to see it back then,” Eren admits, his lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile. “With everything happening around us, I didn’t realize it at first. But she is. She always will be.”

His voice drops, almost to a whisper, as he stares at nothing in particular. “Back then, I asked her what I was to her. And she said we were like family.” He chuckles dryly. “It hurt. God, it hurt. And I knew she was lying. I could see it in her eyes. But that was fine. Because it meant that when it came down to it, she’d be able to let me go. Even if it killed her inside.”

Eren’s faint smile fades. His gaze shifts back to Armin. “In that reality,” he says, “Mikasa was the one who killed me.”

Armin can't help the shocked gasp that escapes him. "W-what?"

Eren leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers buried in his hair. “Maybe that’s what cursed us,” he says, not looking up. “In every lifetime, it’s always the same. We can never be together. When it happens, either I die, or she does. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to change things. I’ve seen so many… so many different realities.” He exhales sharply, his hands tightening in his hair. “Every single time, it’s the same. Every single freaking time.”

His shoulders sag as he sinks further into himself. “That’s why we can’t be together. That’s why she can’t even know the truth. Not about me, not about her. If she does…” He trails off, shaking his head.

Armin remains silent for a long moment. Fora second, he doesn’t know what to say. But then he takes a deep breath. Slowly, he stretches out his hands to Eren, palm up.

Eren hesitates, his eyes flicking to Armin’s outstretched hands. After a moment, he reaches out and takes them.

Armin squeezes his hands lightly, drawing Eren’s gaze back to him. "I won't try to understand what you’ve been through. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be, fighting against something that feels unchangeable. But I do know one thing—carrying all of this on your own? It’s going to crush you.”

Eren’s eyes narrow slightly, as though he’s about to protest, but Armin cuts him off. “It feels like, just like in that first reality, you’re so focused on protecting everyone else, pushing people away to keep them safe. But you’ve forgotten something important. We’re your friends, Eren. We’re supposed to carry this with you. You don’t have to fight alone, and honestly, you can’t. No one can.”

Eren’s jaw tightens, and he looks away, but Armin doesn’t let go of his hand. “You’re so convinced that you and Mikasa are cursed. That no matter what, you’re doomed to repeat the same ending. But what if that’s not the whole truth? What if you’re only seeing the realities where you failed? What if there’s another way?"

Eren’s breath hitches, his fingers curling slightly against Armin’s palm.

“Look,” Armin continues, his voice softening. “I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know if there’s a way to break whatever cycle you’re caught in. But what I do know is that giving up on something before it even has a chance to happen is the surest way to lose it.” He leans forward slightly. “You think Mikasa can’t handle the truth, but have you thought about how much it hurts her to be kept in the dark? These are scary and confusing, and I know because I get them too. But I feel better knowing that you always have an explanation for them. Mikasa doesn't have that. She's all alone in this."

Eren finally meets his gaze.

“And even if you’re right,” Armin adds, “even if it’s doomed to fail… don’t you think she deserves to choose for herself? To have a say in what happens? Because right now, you’re taking that choice away from her, and that’s not fair. Not to her, and not to you.”

The room falls silent. Eren’s shoulders tremble slightly, and he looks down at their joined hands.

Armin’s voice softens further, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not alone in this, Eren. You never were. And no matter how many lifetimes you go through, that’s one thing that I'm sure will never change.”

Eren lets out a shaky exhale, a single tear sliding down his cheek as he squeezes Armin's hands.

"Thank you," he whispers.

Armin's smile widens. "Always."

Chapter Text

Mikasa lies in her bed, staring at the ceiling. The light from her bedside lamp casts a faint, yellow glow on the wall. The party ended hours ago, and the hallways are quiet now, the only sound the low hum of the air conditioning. Her eyes burn with exhaustion, but she doesn't move. She can't.

Her mind loops endlessly back to Eren. Her hand absently brushes the pillow next to her as if the physical act might somehow smooth out her turbulent thoughts. She closes her eyes, trying to find sleep, but all she finds is him. Eren. His face flashes in her mind, clear as daylight, his intense green eyes, the way his brows furrow when he’s frustrated, the rare softness in his voice when he says her name. And then there are the visions. They’ve been getting worse lately, growing more vivid, more intrusive. Whenever she drifts even slightly toward unconsciousness, she sees images of them together in ways that make her chest tighten and her face flush.

Sometimes, they're fighting together, their blades slicing through flesh with ease. She feels the heat of a beast's blood splattering her skin, the adrenaline rushing through her veins. It feels...real. Other times, she sees him lying beside her, his face pressed into the crook of her neck. She can feel the warmth of his skin against hers, the softness of his lips brushing her ear, her fingers brushing through his hair, his hands on her waist.

Then there are even more intimate moments that make her heart pound and send heat crawling up her neck. Mikasa groans into the silence, grabbing a pillow and pressing it over her face. What is wrong with me? she wonders, muffling the frustrated noise that escapes her lips.

She turns on her side, hugging the pillow tightly against her chest. She thought she might be going crazy, but the man in the wolf mask proved otherwise. He knew about the things she saw—about the connection she couldn’t explain. He confirmed what Eren had vehemently denied, brushing her off and making her feel as though she was losing her mind.

He’s such an idiot. The thought bites through her frustration, yet there’s a pang of worry buried beneath it. When she punched him earlier, did it hurt? Is he okay? She bites her lip, wondering why she even cares. He deserves it, she tells herself, though the nagging guilt won’t quite let her be.

Her phone pings, cutting through her thoughts. Mikasa frowns, reaching over to grab it from her nightstand. The screen lights up, displaying a message from an unknown number:

Your costume was really cool, my Raven.

Her heart skips a beat, and unease crawls over her skin. She blinks at the message. The words don’t make sense. She stares at the screen, a heaviness settling in her chest, and types back a reply:

Who is this?

No reply comes. Minutes stretch into silence. Eventually, she exhales shakily, placing the phone back on the nightstand. Her pulse thrums in her ears as she rolls over, pulling the covers tighter around herself. She closes her eyes, ignoring the unease that curls in her stomach.

But sleep feels even further away now.

The next morning, the hallways are chaotic as usual, lockers slamming shut, voices overlapping. Mikasa walks alongside Sasha, Connie, and Jean, her bag slung over one shoulder and exhaustion tugging at her eyelids. Jean lets out a dramatic groan, throwing his head back as they move through the throng of students.

"Can you believe it? A month of detention. Levi caught a few kids, and they snitched—said Connie and I threw the party."

"Which you did," Sasha points out, grinning as she steals a chip from the bag she always seems to have on hand.

Jean glares at her, but it’s half-hearted. "That’s not the point! A month of cleaning duty with Levi breathing down our necks. You know what that’s like."

Sasha winces, shaking her head. "Yeah, you’re going to spend two hours scrubbing one spot until that man’s satisfied."

Jean groans louder while Connie laughs. "Totally worth it though. That party was sick."

Mikasa stays quiet. They reach the classroom and file in together. Students claim seats, chat, and toss paper balls across the room. Mikasa slides into her usual spot by the window, her bag landing with a soft thud on the floor. She looks out briefly, the morning sun filtering through the glass. Then her eyes scan the faces in the crowd, searching. For Eren. Her gaze darts from one person to another before she catches herself, her stomach twisting.

Why am I looking for him?

The ping of her phone pulls her attention.

She unzips her bag and pulls out her phone. The screen lights up, and her heart skips a beat as she reads another message from the unknown number:

Have a nice time in history class, my Raven.

Her blood runs cold. She glances around the room instinctively. The classroom is its usual unruly self, students laughing and shouting over each other, completely oblivious. No one’s looking at her, no one even seems to notice her.

Mikasa stares at the text, reading the words over and over again. Her fingers tremble slightly as she presses the call button. The phone rings once, twice, over and over again, but no one picks up. The ringing stops, and she exhales sharply, her grip tightening on the device. Without hesitation, she blocks the number.

She tosses the phone on her desk and leans back, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

"You okay?" Sasha’s voice breaks through her thoughts, and Mikasa turns to see her friend watching her with a curious expression.

"Yeah," Mikasa replies, brows furrowing. "I’m fine."

Sasha doesn’t look convinced but shrugs and turns her attention back to Connie, who’s reenacting some ridiculous moment from the party.

Mikasa’s gaze shifts back to her phone, lying innocuously on the desk. Her reflection stares back at her in the dark screen.

What the hell is going on?

Eren leans against the cold brick wall of the hallway, his phone held loosely in his hand. A new text from Armin sits on the screen.

She’s in class right now, talking to Sasha. The teacher just walked in. Where are you?

Eren’s thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment before typing his reply:

Skipping. Write good notes. I'll read them later.

The response comes quickly, a single tired-face emoji. Eren huffs a quiet laugh, swiping the conversation away to focus on the chat just below it—a private number that's been blowing up his phone all morning.

He opens the thread. A stream of pictures loads, one after another, all of Mikasa, each taken that very morning.

Mikasa leaving the dorm with Sasha. Mikasa giving Jean a brief hug when they met up with Connie in the hallway. Eren’s jaw tightens, and his thumb quickly deletes that one, a knot tightening in his chest. Another picture: Mikasa, Sasha, Jean, and Connie walking together through the crowded halls.

The last image shows Mikasa texting on her phone. Below the photos, a single text message glares back at him:

What do you think? Our girl is pretty right?

Our girl?

Eren grits his teeth, his grip tightening around the phone until the edges dig into his palm. He takes a slow, deep breath, forcing his body to relax as the anger thrums in his veins. The screen dims, and he locks it before slipping it into his pocket.

Footsteps echo down the hallway. Eren glances up as Historia appears, her cheeks flushed, and her breath coming in shallow pants.

"Why haven’t you gone in yet?" she asks.

Eren shrugs, pushing himself off the wall. "Waiting for you," he says, slipping his hands into his pockets.

Historia narrows her eyes but doesn’t press further. Together, they walk down the corridor toward Erwin’s office. When they reach the door, Eren knocks.

No one answers. 

He glances at Historia. "Hey, have you gotten any strange texts lately?" 

"Nope," she says, glancing at him. "Why? What kind of strange texts?"

Eren shakes his head and knocks again. If this stranger isn't going after Historia either, that means it’s not about their plans. It’s about him.

"Come in," a deep voice calls from inside.

Eren pushes the door open, and the scene before him is almost laughable.

Erwin sits behind his large oak desk, his usually meticulous appearance unusually disheveled. His tie is skewed, his hair slightly mussed. Levi leans casually against the desk’s edge, his arms crossed, but the faint flush on his cheeks and the rumpled state of his shirt betray him.

Eren raises a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Are we interrupting something?"

Levi’s eyes narrow immediately. "Why aren’t you in class, brat?"

"I asked them to see me," Erwin says, adjusting his tie before he leans forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

Levi shifts his weight, his eyes darting between Erwin and Eren before he lets out a quiet huff. He licks his lips, then pushes off the desk’s edge. “I’ll see you later,” he mutters. Without waiting for a response, he strides toward the door.

Erwin’s gaze lingers on Levi as the door shuts behind him, a brief flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he composes himself.

Eren and Historia take the two chairs facing Erwin’s desk. Historia crosses her legs, as she fiddles with the hem of her jacket. Erwin's blue eyes shift to her. He clears his throat, straightening in his seat. “I know I’m not supposed to pull you out of class, but Eren insisted, and I also wanted to check on how things are progressing with you, Historia.”

Eren’s gaze flicks to Historia, his brow furrowing slightly. Historia bites her lower lip. Then she reaches into her bag and pulls out her phone. She taps on the screen a few times before setting it on the desk.

“I recorded this yesterday,” she says.

She presses play, and the room fills with the sound of voices.

“—need to hasten the experimentation process,” an unfamiliar man says impatiently. “We need results fast.”

Another voice, unmistakably Rod Reiss’s, responds. “We’re doing all we can.”

“Well, tell your partner—wherever and whoever he is—that we’re losing patience,” the first man snaps. 

"It's only a matter of time before people start asking questions about all those missing women and girls," a third voice says. "We may not be able to help you bury your crimes anymore if we do not see results, Mr. Reiss."

Rod hesitates. “My partner is a very busy man but I can assure you that we're working on it. Trust me, we’ll have something ready in less than two months. I’ll give you a definite date soon, but you need to trust me on this.”

The recording ends abruptly. Historia glances between Eren and Erwin, gauging their reactions.

Erwin leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. “Who were those men?” he asks.

“Visitors,” Historia replies. “They came to see my father this morning. I could only record bits of their conversations before leaving for school." Her lips press into a thin line. “I think they're investing in the experiments, funding them for personal gain. Whatever my father is working on, they’re desperate to see results.”

Eren's eyes widen. “You think they’re using people as test subjects?”

“Yes,” Historia says, nodding “I don’t have solid proof yet, but you heard the way they talked about it... it makes sense. They gather people in the locations of that list and take them to the sanctuary at the end of each month to be tested on."

Eren leans forward. “If they’re trying to replicate the source, it means they’re using people to try to create Titans again.”

“It seems it hasn’t worked yet though," Erwin says.

"Rod has promised to get back to them in less than two months," Eren says, his jaw tight. “That means we don’t have time. If they succeed—”

“We’ll stop them,” Erwin interjects. “We’ll have to. Before it even becomes a possibility.”

Historia sits up straighter. “How?”

Erwin exhales, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk as he thinks. “We need to locate this sanctuary they mentioned. Destroy everything they’ve worked on. And this partner they spoke of—whoever he is—seems to be the one with the most knowledge about these experiments. Finding him is critical.”

“I’ll try to find out who he is,” Historia says. “But I have no idea right now.”

Eren stays silent for a moment. He glances down at his phone, thinking about the text from earlier. His grip tightens around the device before he speaks. “Are you sure your father suspects nothing about you, about us?”

Historia looks at him, her brows furrowed. “I’m sure. Why?”

Eren shakes his head. “No reason.” He stands abruptly, grabbing his bag from the floor. “I have to go.”

Before anyone can stop him, he walks toward the door and out of the office. The air is cooler outside and Eren doesn't stop until he's outside the administrative building. He slows his pace and pulls his phone from his pocket again. He stares at the text from earlier—the pictures. His jaw tightens, and his chest feels like it’s caving in.

The picture he had deleted wasn't just about Mikasa. It was about him. They know how he’d react, how he’d feel seeing her with Jean.

It’s like a move in a game. Every text, every picture, designed to provoke.

This isn’t just someone keeping tabs on him to make sure he doesn't ruin their plans. This is someone toying with him. Testing him. Seeing how far they can push before he snaps.

Whoever sent these messages knows too much. They know about the church he burned, about his pursuit of answers. They know about Mikasa, about his feelings for her. It's possible they even know how much he cares about Armin. Eren’s hand shakes slightly as he scrolls through the pictures. This person is playing a game with him.

Eren lifts his head. Whoever sent these texts, whoever thinks they can threaten the people he loves, they want him scared. They want him reckless. That's fine. If they want to push him, let them.

He’ll push back harder.

Chapter Text

Mikasa stares down at her phone, her fingers trembling as she scrolls through the texts. The latest one glares up at her, a photograph of her sitting on the bleachers just minutes ago. Her breath catches in her throat as she recognizes Sasha beside her, clapping for Jean, who's out on the field trying to impress the coach.

The picture isn't taken from some hidden vantage point; it's close. Too close. Whoever is sending these knows exactly where she is. Right now.

Beneath the image, the message reads:

"You look so small from here. Like a doll someone might break."

The phone slips slightly in her hand, and Mikasa swallows hard, her stomach churning with unease. She would block the number, but doing that doesn't help. It never does. A new number always texts her minutes after.

Her gaze sweeps over the bleachers, scanning the faces of students chatting. Could one of them be the person watching her? The thought makes her shiver. She grips her jacket tighter around her shoulders, but it does nothing to fight off the cold creeping under her skin.

"Woah, did you see that?" Sasha's voice pulls her momentarily out of her spiral. "Jean might actually have a shot!"

Mikasa nods absently, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, he's doing great."

Sasha doesn't notice her tension. Her focus is entirely on the field. Mikasa lowers her head again, her thumbs tapping out a shaky message to the number.

"Leave me alone."

Then she blocks the number.

The response is immediate. A new number. A new text.

"You don't want me to leave you. I'm the only one who can give you the answers you're looking for. About who you are. About who Eren Yeager truly is."

Eren.

What could this person have to do with Eren?

And then, she remembers. The man at the Halloween party. The one in the wolf mask. His presence felt off even then, but now it's as though she can feel his gaze all over again. Is it him?

Her fingers clench around the phone, and she has to fight the urge to throw it. She looks over at Sasha again, who's leaning forward to shout encouragement to Jean. Across the field, other spectators murmur to each other. Any one of them could be the person tormenting her. She hadn't seen his face that day, not even a glimpse. She types back, her fingers hitting the keys harder than necessary.

"You're the guy from the party, aren't you? Who are you? What do you want?"

The response comes before she even lowers the phone.

"The same thing you want. The truth."

Mikasa freezes, the words looping in her mind. The truth?

Her mind races. She wonders again if she should report this—go to the school administration, or maybe even the police—but the thought feels pointless. What would she even say? That some faceless person is texting her cryptic messages? That they somehow know about her visions? There's no proof, no name to give.

She sighs and forces herself to think rationally. Whoever this person is, they know too much—about her, about Eren, about things she hasn't told anyone. It could be a game, a sick manipulation to throw her off balance. But still...she wants to know what it is. The truth.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly. Then, almost against her better judgment, she types a reply:

"Fine. Give it to me then. The truth."

The message is delivered, but there's no immediate response. She exhales shakily and sets her phone down, trying to focus on the game in front of her.

The baseball tryouts are well underway. Jean, dressed in an old school jersey and cleats that don't quite match, jogs onto the pitcher's mound. Mikasa tilts her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite everything.

"What's Jean doing?" she asks, leaning slightly toward Sasha.

Sasha grins, her eyes glued to the field. "I'm not sure. He told Connie he intends to make this his 'moment of glory.'"

Mikasa raises an eyebrow. That tracks.

Jean winds up for a pitch, his form a little clumsy but surprisingly effective. The ball streaks across the plate, and the batter swings—missing completely. There's a murmur of approval from the spectators.

Mikasa leans forward as the tryout continues, watching Jean manage a decent throw to first base and later sprint toward the outfield to catch a fly ball. The coach calls for a final drill: hitting practice. Jean steps up to the plate, gripping the bat tightly.

The pitcher winds up and throws. Jean swings hard. The sharp crack of the bat connecting with the ball echoes through the field. It soars high and far, landing well beyond the outfielders.

The small crowd erupts into cheers, and Sasha jumps to her feet, clapping wildly. "He did it!" she shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth.

Mikasa finds herself smiling despite everything, her hands coming together in a small, quiet clap. Jean's gaze sweeps the crowd, and when his eyes find hers, he grins broadly—and winks.

Mikasa blinks, her smile faltering for a moment. She shakes her head, amused, and looks away.

He's ridiculous.

Her phone vibrates on the bench beside her, pulling her back to reality. The unease in in her chest returns as she picks it up.

It's a message.

"I'll see you at the clock tower on Friday at 8. I'll tell you everything then."

Mikasa's breath catches, her thumb hovering over the screen. She glances around the bleachers, her eyes darting from face to face. No one seems out of place. No one is looking at her.

Eren leans back on his bed, glaring at his phone as another notification lights up the screen. He's lost count of how many messages he's received from the unknown number over the past few days, but each one feels like a punch to the gut. The taunting never stops.

The latest message reads:

"Do you think she'd still want to be around you if she knew who you really were?"

His jaw tightens as he reads it. He doesn't need to guess who "she" is—Mikasa. It's always about her. Always aimed at his most vulnerable spots.

Earlier today, a photo had arrived of Mikasa leaving the library. She was looking down at her phone, oblivious to whoever is taking the picture. Beneath it, the caption read:

"Distracted? You should remind her to be more careful."

Yesterday, there was a shot of Mikasa walking across campus, her scarf wrapped tightly around her neck against the cold wind.

"That scarf suits her. Shame if someone took it, don't you think?"

The day before that, they'd sent a picture of her sitting at a cafeteria. her back to the camera.

"Eren?" Armin's voice pulls him from his spiraling thoughts.

Eren's gaze snaps up from his phone, and he finds Armin watching him from across their small dorm room. The blond looks concerned, his brows furrowed in that way they always do when he's analyzing a situation.

"What?"

"I said why don't I watch Mikasa for you?" Armin asks.

Eren narrows his eyes. "And why would I let you do that?"

"Because you're worried about her. And because this person—whoever they are—is obviously watching her too. If I keep an eye on her, I can tell you if anything is up. You have enough to worry about with this whole Reiss situation."

Eren scoffs, tossing his phone onto the mattress beside him. "And what happens if this person notices you? What if they're dangerous and decide to attack you?"

Armin doesn't flinch. "What if they attack Mikasa instead?"

The silence between them lingers. Eren looks away, his fists clenching at his sides. He doesn't have an answer to that.

His phone buzzes again, and he picks it up reluctantly. Another picture. This time, it's a grainy shot of Sasha and Mikasa walking toward the dorm. The message below it reads:

"You should make memories with her the way her friends do. They're all you'll have left soon enough."

Eren hurls the phone at the wall, with a growl, watching as it smashes against the white surface. The device falls to the ground with a clatter.

Armin blinks in surprise, but he doesn't comment on the outburst.

Eren doesn't say anything.

Eventually, Armin sighs and stands. He crosses the room, picks up Eren's broken phone, and stares at the screen. He turns to face Eren. "What do you intend to do? Getting close to Mikasa to keep her safe isn't possible anymore because she doesn't want anything to do with you."

"Gee, thanks for the reminder," Eren says, standing. He walks over to Armin and grabs the phone out of his hand. "Look, I have my own way of dealing with this. Just stay out of it, okay?"

Eren doesn't wait for an answer. He slips his shoes on and strides toward the door. He leaves the dorm, the door slamming shut behind him.

Later that week, the golden glow of the setting sun spills through the windows of the school gymnasium. Parents move about, chatting among themselves or watching as their children proudly guide them to various booths set up to showcase projects and extracurricular activities. Eren stands near the entrance, shifting awkwardly as his mother barrels toward him, her arms outstretched.

"Eren!" Carla says, pulling him into a warm, almost crushing hug. Her touch is familiar—too familiar. It's the kind of embrace that stirs memories he'd rather keep buried.

"You've really grown out your hair," she says, her hands ruffling the brown strands tied at the nape of his neck. "You were more handsome with it short, you know."

Eren lets out a quiet chuckle, his lips curving into a small, almost reluctant smile. "I like it this way."

Carla beams at him, and for a moment, he forgets to breathe when she hugs him again. Her arms are warm, and for a split second, Eren freezes. But then, almost instinctively, he raises his arms and returns the gesture.

His chest tightens. He shouldn't be here. Not in this reality, not in this body. Not with her. He feels the weight of guilt settle in his stomach like lead. In the original timeline—the one where he set everything in motion—he had sacrificed her. His mother, who had loved him unconditionally. He had sent a titan to kill her, to ensure the dominoes fell exactly as they needed to.

And now? Now she showers him with love, as if nothing has ever been wrong. As if he hasn't ignored her calls, avoided her messages. As if he deserves this.

She pulls back, her hands lingering on his shoulders, her smile soft. "I brought you a few snacks. You're eating, right? Not just grabbing junk from vending machines?"

Eren nods, unable to meet her eyes.

"They said there's a parent conference later, but I wanted to see you and your dad first," she continues, glancing around. "Oh, and Mikasa. Do you know where she is?"

The name makes Eren's heart stutter. He swallows hard and shrugs, forcing his voice to sound indifferent. "Probably with her friends."

Carla's brow furrows slightly as she looks at him. "You're not being too hard on her, right? I know how you get around new people."

Eren doesn't respond, his gaze drifting to the polished floors of the gym.

"I mean it, Eren," she says, nudging his arm gently. "She's a good girl. Take care of her."

With a sigh, he gestures toward the doors. "Let's go. Dad's at the clinic."

Carla falls into step beside him. She waves at familiar faces, smiling and exchanging pleasantries, while Eren keeps his eyes fixed ahead.

The evening before him is a gauntlet he just has to endure. Just this one night, and then she'll leave. He won't have to feel this guilt that eats at him every time she smiles. He won't have to hear her voice or smell her perfume and be reminded of what he once lost. She'll go back to their home, and he can return to his silent avoidance of his father, even though they're on the same campus.

Just this evening. And then it'll be over.

The clinic feels smaller than it should when they arrive, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence as Eren and Carla make their way to Grisha's office. They knock once before going in and his gaze locks onto the figure already seated in the office, her dark hair falling in a curtain around her face.

Mikasa.

He freezes at the threshold. His stomach tightens, but Carla doesn't hesitate. She sweeps past him.

"Mikasa!" she exclaims, rushing forward to pull her into a tight hug. "Oh, sweetheart, how are you? Are you okay? You've lost weight—are you eating enough? I brought some food for you."

Mikasa barely has time to respond before Carla showers her with another wave of questions, her hands cupping Mikasa's cheeks as she examines her with motherly concern. Eren lingers by the door, his hand clenching into a fist at his side.

What had those months been like? When it was just Mikasa and his parents? Just the three of them, living together in his house?

Carla's attention shifts, and she greets Eren's father warmly, her face lighting up as she crosses the room to him. There's an affection in her eyes, one that's mirrored, albeit faintly, in his father's expression. It's a fleeting thing that makes Eren's jaw clench.

He moves without thinking, crossing to one of the couches in the office—the one directly across from Mikasa. He sinks into the seat, and lets his gaze drift to her. She's not looking at him. Not once. Her eyes remain fixed elsewhere, deliberately avoiding his.

Was Armin right? Does she want nothing to do with him now? That would be best, would it not? If Mikasa deliberately stays away from him, then she can be safe.

And yet, all he can think is how much he aches to be near her. To reach across the space between them, touch her and tell her he's sorry.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry this is so difficult.

The buzz of a phone vibrates through the room, and Mikasa's hand darts to her pocket. She glances at the screen, her expression flickering with something Eren can't quite place. His chest tightens, his lips parting as his eyes narrow.

Who texted her just now?

She rises abruptly. "I have to go," she says. "A friend of mine needs help with something."

Carla smiles warmly, "Oh, alright. But come see me before you leave, okay?"

Mikasa nods, and Carla pulls her into another embrace. "Take care of yourself, dear," she says softly.

Eren watches Mikasa go, his gaze trailing after her as she disappears out the door. The ache in his chest deepens, but before he can dwell on it, he catches the look on his mother's face.

Carla is watching him with a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with something far too perceptive.

He scoffs, turning his face away. "What?"

"Nothing," she says lightly, her tone dripping with amusement. "Come eat."

Eren pushes himself to his feet with a sigh, forcing the tension out of his shoulders as he helps her take out the food. But even as he sits and reaches for a plate, his mind is elsewhere—chasing shadows and unanswered questions, his thoughts tethered to the girl who had just walked out the door.

Chapter Text

The clock tower looms above Mikasa, its weathered stone facade bathed in the pale glow of the moon. The massive clock at the top ticks softly, its sound barely audible. Mikasa bites her bottom lip.

This could be dangerous.

She tightens her grip on her phone, staring at the screen as if it holds all the answers. What am I doing here? she wonders. She knows nothing about the person who has been texting her, only that they're a creep who has been watching her far too closely.

Her fingers fly across the screen, typing out a message to Sasha:

I'm sending you my location. If I'm not back in the dorms soon, I went to the clock tower and might've been kidnapped.

The reply comes almost instantly.

Girl, what?!

Mikasa exhales sharply, the tension knotting her shoulders as she pockets the phone. She looks back up at the clock tower, its shadow stretching across the path. Her breath fogs in the chilly night air as she tries to steel herself.

She's just beginning to summon the courage to move when a faint rustling sound catches her attention. Her stomach drops.

The sound came from the side of the building.

Her fingers instinctively reach for the taser she and Sasha had bought months ago, a self defense precaution. Her thumb flicks it on, the electric crackle filling the quiet air as she slowly steps toward the source of the noise.

Every nerve in her body is taut as she rounds the corner, her hand trembling slightly as she raises the taser. She spins sharply, ready for anything.

"Ahhhh!"

A high-pitched scream erupts from the darkness, and Mikasa jolts, her eyes snapping downward. There, crouched on the ground, is Armin, his hands clamped over his mouth and his blue eyes wide with terror.

"Armin?" Mikasa lowers the taser. "You scream like a girl."

Armin clears his throat, his cheeks flushing as he straightens up. "Well, you scared me," he mumbles, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at him, her grip still firm on the taser. "Are you following me? Was it you who sent those texts?"

"What? No!" Armin's eyes widen, and he takes a step back. "Wait—you've been getting texts too?"

Mikasa's jaw tightens. "What do you mean by 'too'?"

Armin looks around nervously, his hand absently rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean... well, you see..."

"Armin..."

The night air grows colder as Armin glances nervously around the deserted area, shifting on his feet like a bird ready to flee. "Mikasa," he whispers urgently, "we need to get out of here. This place is giving me the creeps."

Mikasa doesn't move. Her gaze locks onto his. "Not until you tell me what the hell is going on. You're hiding something."

He groans softly, running a hand through his hair. "I'll explain—just not here."

"No," she snaps. "You're not going anywhere until you give me answers. What do you know?"

Armin hesitates, looking over his shoulder as if expecting someone—or something—to emerge from the shadows. "Fine," he mutters, his tone resigned. "I know about your visions."

Mikasa stiffens.

Armin keeps going, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I know Eren doesn't want to talk about them, but I will. I'll explain everything if you just come with me. Please."

Her voice drops to a whisper. "How do you know?"

"Because..." Armin's eyes meet hers, and the haunted look in them sends a chill down her spine. "I have them too."

The world feels like it's tilting beneath her. She stands frozen, her thoughts racing as a flood of questions threatens to drown her. Finally, she nods. "Okay."

Relief washes over Armin's face as they turn to leave, but a voice stops them cold.

"Leaving so soon, my raven?"

The words send a shiver down Mikasa's spine. She spins around, her heart pounding as her eyes land on a figure standing in the shadows. It's him—the man from the Halloween party. The wolf mask obscures most of his face, but there's no mistaking him.

Fear coils tightly in her chest as the man steps forward.. "What's wrong?" he taunts. "I thought you wanted the truth."

Mikasa grabs Armin's. "We need to go," she says under her breath.

They begin to back away, but the man tilts his head, a dark chuckle escaping him. "You're not going anywhere."

Before they can retreat, three more figures emerge from the shadows, blocking their path. Mikasa's pulse races as she shifts to put herself between Armin and the approaching men.

"Let us go," she says firmly, despite the fear coursing through her. "If I'm not back in school, people will come looking for me."

The man in the mask laughs. "I'm counting on it."

His gaze shifts to Armin, and he seems to study him for a moment before speaking again. "Look you even brought me an unexpected gift," he says. "Armin Arlert."

Armin stiffens beside her, but Mikasa's focus remains on the man. Her fingers twitch toward the taser in her pocket as he gestures to his men.

"Take them," he commands.

Thank God for countless hours of training with Levi.

Mikasa doesn't hesitate. She lunges at the first man and strikes him in the stomach with her knee, sending him sprawling, then spins to block another assailant's punch. She takes out the taser and jabs it into the attacker's ribs, causing him to cry out and crumple to the ground.

An arm wraps around her from behind. Mikasa struggles, kicking and punching, as the third guy moves toward her. He swings and the force of his blow sends her to the ground, her head ringing from the impact. She grits her teeth and struggles to get up, but one of the men pins her down and twists her arms behind her back, twisting until she cries out.

Armin is on the ground, pinned down by the man Mikasa had struck with the taser. The man in the mask steps forward.

Mikasa narrows her eyes, glaring up at him despite the terror numbing her hands. "What the hell is your problem?" she snaps, her voice trembling with rage. "Is it me? Do you want me? Fine—take me! Just leave Armin alone!"

The man chuckles, a low, chilling sound. "Oh, my raven," he says, shaking his head. "You give yourself too much credit."

Mikasa's breath catches.

"You're bait."  He gestures toward Armin with a gloved hand. "And so is he. But the real prize..." He pauses, his tone dripping with satisfaction. Mikasa stares at him, dread sinking into her bones.

"...is Eren Yeager."

The gymnasium is bathed in light, the sound of conversations floating through the air as music blares overhead. Parents move about, chatting with teachers and checking the pamphlets and schedules pinned to the bulletin boards. Historia stands dutifully by her father's side as he flashes a grin at Principal Erwin.

Erwin inclines his head politely. "Thank you again, Mr. Reiss, for your generous donation. The school greatly appreciates your continued support."

Rod lets out a practiced laugh, his broad shoulders shaking slightly. "Of course, Principal. Anything for the school that has taken care of my daughter for so long."

Historia stiffens at the words, her gaze dropping to the floor. She can feel Erwin's eyes on her, but she avoids meeting them. Of course, her father would be grateful to the institution that had kept his illegitimate child tucked away, her existence carefully managed to preserve the Reiss family's pristine image.

Until he needed her of course.

She risks a glance around the room, searching for anything to distract her. That's when she sees Ymir.

The tall girl is moving through the crowd, her eyes locking onto Historia the moment she looks up. Ymir smirks, her pace quickening as she strides toward them. When she gets close, she winks, and Historia's heart stumbles over itself. A faint blush warms her cheeks as the noise of the room fades into a dull hum.

Erwin's voice cuts through the haze. "As per your request, Ambrosia is being served to our guests today."

Historia snaps out of her trance just in time to see her father smile excitedly. Ymir stops next to Erwin, balancing a silver tray adorned with glasses of crimson wine. Erwin grabs a glass before handing one to Rod Reiss.

The two men clink their glasses and then both take a sip. "This is excellent," Erwin remarks.

Rod smiles faintly. "Yes. Ambrosia was made with imported ingredients. It'll be released to the public soon," he says. "We're expecting it to be another lucrative venture for us."

The principal nods again. "It's an honor to be among the first to taste it then," he says. "I'll see you when it's time for your speech," he ads before turning to leave.

Historia watches as Erwin disappears into the crowd, Ymir trailing casually behind him. Her attention flickers back to her father just as he extends his wine glass toward her.

"Hold this," he says, his voice laced with something that sets her nerves on edge.

Historia takes the glass hesitantly, noticing how full it still is. Rod hadn't drunk a single sip. She glances up at him, her brow furrowing. His jaw is tight.

"I need you to do something," he says abruptly, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for someone.

"What is it?" she asks warily.

Rod's gaze snaps to hers, and for a moment, he looks almost afraid. Then, with a forced smile, he leans in closer and says quietly, "Don't drink the wine."

Historia blinks, confusion and unease swirling in her chest. "What are you talking about?"

Before he can answer, Rod straightens suddenly, his expression shifting into a mask of forced cheerfulness. He stretches out his arm in greeting. "Well, well," he says, "I didn't think you would actually make it."

Historia follows his line of sight and freezes.

A man in a white suit strides forward. His blonde hair is neatly combed back, its golden hue catching the warm light of the bulbs above. A neatly trimmed beard frames his sharp jawline, and there's a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes, magnified by round, wire-rimmed glasses.

He closes the remaining distance and embraces Rod in an almost familial hug. His chuckle is low and rich as he replies, "And miss the day we make history? Never."

Pulling back, he places a hand on the man's shoulder. "There's someone I'd like you to meet," he says, gesturing toward Historia, who stands just behind him, her grip still firm on the untouched glass of wine. "This is my daughter and heir," Rod announces, "Historia Reiss."

The man's gaze shifts to Historia, and his expression softens, He steps forward, taking her small hand in his much larger one.  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Historia," he says smoothly, his voice carrying a honeyed quality. His eyes sweep over her, lingering just long enough to make her cheeks flush. Then he lifts her hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. "You're as stunning as your father described," he continues. "In fact, I'd say your beauty rivals even the finest treasures in Eldia."

Historia's breath catches in her throat, her heart thudding unevenly in her chest. She forces herself to meet his gaze, though her mind screams at her to look away. There's something unnerving about the way he speaks, like every word is a move in a game she doesn't understand.

"I'm your father's business partner," he adds, stepping back with a small bow of his head. "Zeke Yeager."

The blood drains from Historia's face. Her hand slips from his as though his name burns her.

Yeager?

Eren leans against a marble column in the gym, half-listening as Hange animatedly describes something undoubtedly scientific to his mother. His attention drifts to the phone in his hand. The screen lights up, displaying a series of unanswered messages he's sent to Armin throughout the evening.

Where are you?

My mom wants to say hi.

With a frustrated sigh, he hits send on yet another text and slides the phone back into his pocket.

"Eren," his mother calls, looping her arm through his as Hange finally waves goodbye and walks off to engage another unsuspecting guest. "That teacher of yours sure loves to talk."

Eren chuckles, falling into step with her. "Hange's just passionate. And really smart," he says.

Carla looks around the room, scanning the sea of guests milling about in elegant suits and dresses. "We should find seats soon," she says. "Your father and I want a good view for Rod Reiss's speech." Her voice drops slightly, as if sharing a secret. "I heard he's launching a new business."

Eren nods, though he isn't particularly interested in Rod Reiss' speech or his business. In fact, he wishes it'd all burn down. His eyes flick back to his phone.

"I haven't seen Armin yet," his mother remarks.

"I've been trying to reach him," he replies. "He's probably just busy with his parents. I'm sure he'll find us after the event."

Carla nods. Before she can say anything else, Eren's phone buzzes in his hand. He glances down at the screen.

"It's Armin," he says quickly, lifting the phone to his ear. "Hey, where are you? My mom—"

He stops mid-sentence. No sound comes from the other end of the line.

"Armin?" Eren says again.

The silence stretches, until a voice finally breaks it.

"Hello, Eren."

Eren freezes. His breath hitches, and his grip on the phone tightens. He glances at his mother, who's watching him with a curious smile. "What's wrong?" she asks, tilting her head.

He forces a smile, his teeth clenched. "Reception's bad," he says quickly. "I'm just gonna step outside and try calling him back."

Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks briskly toward the exit. As soon as he's outside and away from prying ears, he lifts the phone back to his ear.

"Who is this?" he repeats, his pulse pounding in his ears.

The voice on the other end chuckles softly, sending a chill down Eren's spine.

Eren presses the phone tightly against his ear, his breath shallow. The world around him fades into background noise.

"Let's play a game," the voice says. "It's called hide and seek. A game brothers play as kids... though we never got our chance."

Eren's blood runs cold. Brothers? His throat tightens, and he feels the ground beneath his feet tilt slightly. His grip on the phone trembles.

"Zeke?" he whispers, the name slipping out before he can stop it.

The voice on the line erupts in laughter. "Took you long enough, little brother," Zeke replies, his tone dripping with amusement.

Eren's heart pounds erratically in his chest, disbelief clawing at his mind. "No...no, that's impossible," he says in a shaky voice.

Zeke sighs dramatically. "I wish I'd had time to catch up with you," he says, the smile evident in his voice. "But I've been busy, you see. I know you're not the Eren Yeager who was born in this reality. I also know it was you who destroyed the source here. Ever since you did that, I've been working on a replacement. Recreating my very own titan fluid. And now, it's finally ready to be tested."

Eren's stomach churns, and his fingers dig into the edge of the column beside him. "If you've done anything to Armin—"

"Oh, that depends on you," Zeke interrupts smoothly. "I have your little Mikasa, too. They're both in excellent hands for now."

"What have you done?" Eren demands, his voice a growl.

Zeke chuckles again, savoring Eren's panic. "In about fifteen minutes, they'll each be injected with the fluid. Armin is at the old clock tower, and Mikasa? She's waiting at the library where she and I first met."

Eren glances around frantically. The clock tower is at the northern edge of campus, while the library sits to the south. Opposite sides of the school. His breathing quickens.

"There's not enough time," Eren mutters under his breath, more to himself than Zeke.

"Oh, but wait," Zeke continues, his voice cutting like a blade. "There's a third option."

Eren freezes, his muscles locking in place.

"You could turn around and head back to the gym," Zeke says, his tone taking on a mockery of thoughtfulness. "Rod Reiss is about to give his big speech. At the end, the entire school will toast with his new wine, Ambrosia. The very same wine I've enhanced with titan fluid."

Eren's stomach drops. The gym. His mother. Every single person in that crowd.

"So who will it be?" Zeke asks, his voice taunting. "The girl you love? Your best friend? Or the people in that gym, including dear Carla, who will soon turn into Titans? Who's more important, Eren? Armin, Mikasa, or your mother?"

Eren's knuckles turn white as he grips the phone, his jaw clenched so tightly it feels like it might crack.

"You don't have a lot of time to make your decision," Zeke says, a hint of laughter in his voice. "The game starts now."

The line goes dead.

Chapter Text

Mikasa watches as the man ends the call. He’s taken off his mask now, revealing a face that immediately sets her on edge. His hair is blonde, swept back, and his piercing blue eyes have a way of searching hers as if looking for a weakness. He’s not a student, that much is clear.

He moves to sit across from her, the old chair creaking beneath his weight. Mikasa shifts uncomfortably in her restraints. Her wrists are raw from earlier attempts to free herself. Her mind races, desperately trying to calculate how long it’s been since she was taken. She doesn’t know. Worse, she doesn’t know where Armin is.

The man smiles, a thin thing that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “My raven,” he says teasingly.

Mikasa glares at him, despite the knot forming in her stomach. “Don’t call me that.”

He laughs—soft, amused, like her defiance is exactly what he expected. “Fair enough,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose this isn’t the best way to meet, but you’ll forgive the circumstances. I guess introductions are in order.” He pauses, letting the silence stretch just long enough to build unease. “I’m Zeke Yeager.”

The name hits her like a punch to the chest. Her eyes widen involuntarily, and Zeke catches the reaction. He nods, as if to confirm her worst suspicions.

“Yes,” he says with a slow exhale. “Eren Yeager’s brother.”

Mikasa feels the air shift in the room. He doesn’t leave her much time to dwell on his words. Instead, he glances up at the massive clock face looming above them, its hands ticking forward.

“I know you’re angry,” he begins, as if coaxing a confession from her. “But I promised you the truth, Mikasa. And I always keep my promises.”

She doesn’t respond. Her eyes narrow, silently daring him to go on.

Zeke leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you ever wonder why things feel… inevitable? Like no matter what you do, no matter how hard you fight, you always end up back where you started? Like you’re trapped in a loop?”

Mikasa stiffens. “What are you talking about?”

Zeke’s lips curl into a faint smile. “There’s a web of existence that ties us all together. Every decision you make, every thought, every action—it branches out, creating new realities. A multiverse, if you will.” He pauses, watching her expression shift from confusion to guarded curiosity.

“In every one of those realities,” Zeke continues, “Everyone you know exists in some way. But what's important to this story is that you and Eren exist. Sometimes you start off as allies, very rarely do you start off as enemies. But every single time…” His voice trails off, and he tilts his head slightly, studying her. “You become something more. Lovers. Soulmates, with one very tragic constant. One unchanging thread that ties all those possibilities together.”

Mikasa doesn’t speak, but her breath catches.

“You lose him,” Zeke says quietly. “Every single time.”

Her chest tightens. “You’re insane,” she says, her voice trembling. “Eren is—”

“Eren is fighting fate,” Zeke interrupts. “The way he fought in our original reality. The way he’s fought in every other reality I’ve seen. And believe me, Mikasa, I’ve seen them all.” He leans back, his gaze distant.

His eyes lock onto hers. “Do you know what I've seen, Mikasa? I've seen you. Over and over again. Loving him. Losing him. Breaking because of him. And no matter what he does—no matter how much he tries to change things—it always ends the same. There is no happy ending. Not for you. Not for him. Not as long as you’ve crossed each other’s paths.”

Mikasa shakes her head. “Different realities?” she asks. "That makes no sense. You’re insane!"

Zeke presses his lips into a thin line and lets out a huff. “I see,” he says. “You’re confused now, I get it. But I promised you the truth, didn’t I?” His voice takes on a sinister edge, he kind that sends chills crawling up her spine. “After tonight, you’ll understand. You’ll see just how deeply Eren Yeager feels for you. And trust me, you won’t be so confused anymore.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket, the glow of the screen casting faint shadows across his face. He checks the time and smirks. “Eleven minutes to go now,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before slipping the device back into his pocket.

Eren can’t breathe.

His chest heaves, but the air refuses to fill his lungs. His ears ring, drowning out every other sound, and his eyes are fixed on the path head. Fifteen minutes. That’s all he has. Fifteen minutes, and the distance stretches impossibly far, a chasm between where he stands and where he needs to be.

He turns around, his boots scraping against the floor, and the library comes into view in the distance. Far beyond it, the clock tower looms. He clenches his fists. There's not enough time.

I won’t make it. I won’t make it.

“Eren!”

The sound of his name cuts through the fog in his mind, and he spins to see Historia bounding down the staircase, her pale hair flying behind her. She skids to a stop in front of him, breathless, her wide blue eyes scanning his face.

Her lips part. “My father’s partner is—”

“Zeke,” Eren finishes, his voice colder than he intends.

The name hangs in the air like a thunderclap. Historia freezes, her hands falling to her sides. “You know him?” she whispers.

Eren blinks at her, his mind scrambling for clarity. Think. Think. He doesn’t have time to explain everything. “Zeke’s here,” he says. “He’s going to test the first batch of that fluid he created. It’s in your father's wine.”

Her eyes widen, and her hand flies to her mouth. “Ambrosia,” she breathes, the word trembling on her lips.

Eren nods grimly. “He has Armin and Mikasa too.” He glances at his phone, his pulse thundering in his ears. “We have less than fourteen minutes.”

Historia straightens. “I’ll go after Armin,” she says. “I brought weapons. You go after Mikasa."

Eren looks at her, then back at the gym. "My mom is in there."

He can't betray her again.

Historia opens her mouth, but a voice interrupts her. “I’ll handle things here.”

Eren whirls to see Erwin stepping out of the shadows. Ymir stands just behind him, a small scowl on her face.

“Erwin,” Eren starts, but the older man cuts him off with a raised hand.

“We don’t have time to talk,” Erwin says. His gaze shifts to Ymir. “Now is the time to prove you’re willing to help us,” he adds evenly.

Ymir’s jaw tightens, but she nods.

“Go with Historia,” Erwin instructs her. “Save Armin.”

Eren interjects, “Armin’s at the clock tower.”

Ymir nods once and follows Historia, who has already started toward down the path that'll lead to the library.

Erwin steps closer to Eren, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies him. “You never told me you have a brother,” he states, though it’s not a question.

Eren’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond.

Erwin sighs, his expression softening briefly before hardening again. “We’ll talk about it later.” He reaches into his coat and pulls out a small leather bag. Handing it to Eren, he says, “There’s a dagger and a gun in there. You’ll need them.”

Eren stares at the bag for a moment before taking it.

“I'll take care of everything here. Go,” Erwin says. “Now.”

Eren doesn’t hesitate this time. He slings the bag over his shoulder, his feet already moving toward the library. He sprints in the open air, the night biting against his sweat-slick skin. The campus stretches before him, paths winding between darkened buildings and clusters of trees. His lungs are on fire, but he doesn’t slow down. Sweat drips down his brow, stinging his eyes, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

Mikasa.

The admin building's silhouette looms to his left as he sprints past, its windows glowing faintly from the lights left on inside. His shoes pound against the paved walkway. A breeze brushes against his face, but it does little to cool the heat coursing through him.

Mikasa.

Her name echoes in his mind, pushing him forward, even as his body protests. He swipes at his face with his sleeve, his heart hammering against his ribs. He veers down a narrow path shaded by trees. The library comes into view through the gaps in the trees and he skids to a halt at the doors, panting hard.

Eren's hand trembles as he pulls out his phone. Five minutes. That’s all he has left. His breath catches in his throat as a muffled scream pierces the air.

“Mikasa!” Eren yells, throwing open the door and rushing in.

The door slams against the wall with a deafening crack. Inside, the library is silent. Bookshelves cast long shadows across the room, and the smell of old paper mingles with something metallic—blood?

Eren’s gaze darts to the front desk. The librarian lies slumped over, unconscious, a thin trickle of blood trailing from her temple. He swallows hard and glances around, his senses on high alert. The library seems empty, but he knows better.

He moves swiftly toward the far wall, where one of the entrances to the secret chambers is hidden. His pulse races as he pushes open the concealed panel, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling down into darkness.

Clipping the bag to his belt, Eren pulls out the gun. He cocks it with a sharp click. Every muscle in his body tenses as he descends the stairs, one slow step at a time.

At the bottom, the door hangs ajar, faint light spilling into the corridor. Eren edges closer, pressing himself against the wall before peering inside.

The sight makes him freeze.

Mikasa is there, tied to a chair, her arms pinned behind her back. A gag muffles her voice but her eyes widen when she sees him. The light glints off the tear tracks on her face, and Eren’s grip on the gun tightens.

A figure sits in a chair opposite her, his back to the door. Slowly, the man turns, and Eren feels the world tilt.

Zeke.

He’s calm, unnervingly so, his hands resting lightly on the arms of the chair. His beard is neatly trimmed, not as shaggy as it was the last time they were face to face with each other.

Zeke tilts his head, studying him with the detachment of a scientist observing a specimen. “I’ll admit, I was almost worried you wouldn’t come. That maybe I’d been wrong about you.” He gestures lazily toward Mikasa. “That you’d choose someone else instead.”

Eren’s breath catches, and his stomach twists.

Zeke leans forward slightly, his eyes gleaming. “Does this mean you’ve left Armin and your mother to their fate?” He pauses. “Is this your decision, Eren?”

Eren’s finger hovers over the trigger, his heart pounding so loudly he can barely think. His gaze flickers to Mikasa, whose muffled cries urge him forward.

But he doesn’t move.

Instead, he narrows his eyes, tilting his head slightly as he keeps the gun pointed at Zeke. “Which one are you?” he asks.

Zeke’s eyes light up, and a smile spreads across his face. He leans back in his chair, clasping his hands together. “Which one am I?” he repeats, amusement dancing in his tone. “I know it’s a different body, but I have to say, I’m a little offended my own brother didn’t recognize me.”

Eren doesn’t lower the gun. Instead, he begins to move, circling Zeke like a predator stalking its prey. His mind racing to make sense of what he’s seeing. “How?"

Zeke’s expression falters for the briefest moment. "Death, little brother, is far less permanent than you’d think.”

Eren stops pacing, his grip tightening on the gun. “Start talking.”

Zeke exhales. “It’s a long story,” he begins. “But imagine this: you die. The last thing you remember is a sword slicing toward your neck. You’re ready for it. You think, ‘This is it.’ And then… nothing. Nothing but darkness. A void where time doesn’t exist.”

Eren’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“And then,” Zeke continues, “you feel it. A pull, like a thread coming from your very being. You’re dragged through the Paths, through the infinite possibilities that branch out like veins. You’re weightless, formless, nothing but a consciousness drifting through the remnants of Ymir’s power.”

Eren’s brow furrows, his breath hitching.

Zeke smiles at him. "You experienced it too, didn't you?"

No response.

Zeke leans back, his eyes gleaming. “I don’t know how long I was there. Maybe seconds. Maybe centuries. Alone. But then I felt you.” He gestures vaguely toward Eren, his lips curling into a faint smirk. “Your presence was like a beacon. A crack in the foundation of this reality. And it was enough for me to slip through. The paths Eren, was where it all began for us and it is where it all ends."

"There is no paths here."

"Because you destroyed the source," Zeke says, frowning. “I’ve had plenty of time to think about why and how I ended here, and I’ve come up with a few theories." He pauses, glancing briefly at Mikasa. "The Founding Titan’s power bends reality in ways we’ll never fully comprehend. You may have died with it in you but I gave you entry into the paths. And when you manipulated it, you created an instability."

His fingers tap idly on the armrest of his chair as he speaks. “That instability allowed me to follow you, even without meaning to. And because we were both directly connected to the Founding Titan and Ymir Fritz’s will, the remnants of her power in the Paths recognized that connection.”

Eren takes a step closer, his voice low. “You still haven’t explained how you’re here. In that body," he says. "When I first arrived in this reality, one of the people I tried to find was Dina Fritz. But here, she never married our father. They only dated for a short while before he moved to Eldia and met my mother. Dina didn't have a child."

Zeke’s smile fades, replaced by something colder. “The Zeke of this universe,” he says, “was a broken man. A bastard child whose father didn't even know he existed and who was abandoned by his mother. He was desperate, angry, and—most importantly—alone.”

Eren watches him carefully, his heart pounding.

“Dina was stripped of her last name when her family found out she was pregnant and alone. She abandoned Zeke. With no ties to her, it's no surprise that you didn't find him. When he grew up, he found out about where he came from,” Zeke continues, his voice dipping. “She wanted nothing to do with him and wished he would disappear. You can imagine how that might make someone feel.”

Eren doesn’t respond. 

“And when he finally decided he’d had enough?” Zeke leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “When he put a gun to his head, I was there. A consciousness, floating in the ether. I saw the moment he decided to end it. And I stepped in.”

Eren glances at Mikasa. She's staring at him with wide eyes and he knows that after this, he won't be able to lie anymore, no matter how much he wants to.

"You and I, Eren—we’re connected," Zeke says. "No matter where you go, I’ll find you. I didn’t just follow you here. I was pulled here. By you.”

Eren's fingers twitch. Zeke’s casual demeanor is at odds with the gravity of his words. He stands, walking to a small, unassuming briefcase resting on a table.

Eren narrows his eyes. “Why did you recreate the fluid?”

Zeke doesn’t turn to face him right away. Instead, he flips the briefcase open with a soft click. The lid swings back, revealing neatly organized vials and syringes cushioned in black foam.

“When I arrived here, I thought I could take the power of the titans for myself. But then I saw that the source was gone,” Zeke begins in tone that's almost conversational, “So, I went back to the Fritz house.” He lifts a vial into the light, the liquid inside catching a faint amber glow. “In this reality, my mother's family… obviously don't care much for me. But I told them I could help them find what they’d been searching for—a way to get the powers they've been chasing for generations back.”

Eren doesn’t move, but his jaw tightens. Mikasa shifts uneasily at his side and he glances at her.

Zeke finally turns to look at them, holding the vial between his thumb and forefinger like it’s a fragile artifact. “They had resources,” he continues. “They've been studying the tree where it lived. For years. They've gathered everything. Chemicals, remnants… anything that might help them. They were willing to give me access to all their research. And with my knowledge of Titans from the original reality—” he pauses, glancing at Eren, “—and others I… observed, I believe I am able to recreate it.”

“Others you observed?” Eren asks sharply.

Zeke smiles faintly, setting the vial back into its place in the briefcase. “You think you’re the only one who witnessed all those realities, Eren? The only one who’s lingered there, watching?” He chuckles. “I spent a lot of time studying those other worlds before I felt you here too. Only I was learning.”

Zeke’s expression shifts, almost softening. “Didn’t you notice? In every single one of those realities, there’s a constant. I’m always the older brother who cares about you, thinking you’re a victim of our father’s manipulation. And you…” He lets the words hang in the air. “You’re always the one who betrays me.”

He gestures toward the room’s entrance with a nod, and the door swings open. Four men step inside. Each is armed, their faces expressionless but their postures alert, ready.

“I’m here,” Zeke says, “because there are some things that cannot change. Only this time…” He smiles, a predator’s grin. “This time, I’ll win.”

Chapter Text

Eren pulls the dagger from his bag. The steel glints faintly under the light as he slices through the ropes binding Mikasa's wrists. Her hands are raw and trembling, but she doesn't flinch when he moves to remove the gag. She yanks it out herself, sucking in a deep breath before narrowing her eyes at him.

"Stay behind me," he tells her firmly, tucking the dagger back into his belt.

"Eren—"

"You don't have to fight this, Eren," Zeke says casually. The men behind him close in, knives and guns in hand. "Some things, you just cannot change."

Eren doesn't respond. Before Mikasa can even process what's happening, he fires two quick shots, aiming low. The sharp cracks of the gunfire echo in the chamber, and two of the men collapse to the ground with screams of pain, clutching their legs.

"Run," Eren says sharply, grabbing Mikasa's arm and pulling her toward the nearest corridor.

They sprint together, the sound of their pounding footsteps mingling with the chaotic shouts and gunfire behind them. The chambers blur into shadowy shapes as they navigate the winding path. Mikasa's heart pounds in her chest, each breath a desperate gulp of air.

A gunshot rings out, louder and closer than the others. Mikasa barely registers it before Eren twists toward her, shielding her with his body. The impact of the bullet slams into his shoulder, and he stumbles, a pained grunt escaping his lips.

"Eren!" she screams, her voice cracking with panic.

"I'm fine," he growls through clenched teeth, straightening despite the blood soaking his shirt. "Keep running!"

He raises the gun again, firing over his shoulder without stopping. Another man drops, cursing loudly, and Eren grabs Mikasa's hand, dragging her forward.

They push on, moving through narrow halls and around crumbling pillars. The exit looms ahead, just as they remember it from that fateful night at the Halloween party. Relief flickers in Mikasa's chest, but it's short-lived. She reaches for the handle and yanks.

It doesn't budge.

"It's locked!" she cries, fumbling with it, her fingers slipping against the cold metal.

Eren looks around frantically, his sharp eyes darting between her and the corridor behind them. He spots the padlock securing the door and curses under his breath.

"Can you pick a lock?" he asks, his voice tight.

"No," she replies, her chest heaving.

"I can," he mutters, but his gaze shifts to the figure now blocking their escape route. The last man stands at the other end of the corridor, a wicked grin stretching across his face. He flips a knife in his hand, the blade glinting ominously. "But I'll need to take care of him first."

Eren pulls out his own dagger, but before he can move, Mikasa steps forward, snatching it from his grasp.

"I'll take care of him," she says, her voice steady, even as her hands tremble.

"What? No. Mikasa—"

"You need to pick the lock!" she snaps. "You trained me for this, remember?"

Eren hesitates, his jaw tightening, but he doesn't argue. He nods once, reluctantly, and kneels by the door, pulling out the tools he needs to work on the lock.

Mikasa grips the dagger tightly, her knuckles white, and steps toward the man. Her heart hammers in her chest.

The man sneers at her, twirling his knife lazily. "You think you've got what it takes, sweetheart?"

She doesn't answer. Her vision begins to swim as if the world around her is tilting on an invisible axis. The dim corridor blurs, and for a moment, she can't tell what's real and what isn't. Then it hits her again—a torrent of fragmented images, voices, and sensations crashing through her mind like a violent storm.

Not now.

Eren's shout behind her barely registers. Her grip tightens on the dagger, her knuckles going white. She feels herself moving, but it's not her. It's something else—something stronger, faster, and terrifyingly precise.

The man raises his blade to block her, but she moves too quickly, sidestepping and driving her knee into his abdomen with a force that doubles him over. Her dagger flashes downward, slicing across his arm, forcing him to drop his weapon with a strangled yell.

Mikasa's vision flickers. Her heart races, her breathing shallow, but her movements are impossibly smooth, almost inhuman. Her body pivots before she even registers his next attack, ducking under a wild swing and twisting around to strike. Her blade finds his thigh, cutting deep.

The man stumbles back, cursing, but Mikasa presses forward. She moves like a predator, her muscles obeying instincts she doesn't recognize. She slams the hilt of the dagger into his ribs, and the sickening crunch of bone echoes in the narrow space.

"Got it!" Eren shouts suddenly, the padlock clicking open in his hands.

Mikasa blinks, just for a second, and the visions snap back. She's here. Now. The man is clutching his side, blood pooling at his feet, his breaths ragged. But she doesn't stop. Her body doesn't let her. Her arm raises for another strike, but something grabs her wrist.

"Mikasa!"

Eren.

His grip pulls her back, yanking her out of the trance. Her breathing is erratic, her pulse pounding in her ears. She stares at the man crumpled before her, the dagger in her hand slick with blood. Her legs feel like they might give out beneath her.

"Let's go!"

She stumbles after him, her legs moving sluggishly, her mind still reeling. The cold night air hits her like a slap as they burst through the exit. Eren doesn't stop, dragging her along as they sprint away from the building.

***

Eren groans softly, his hand pressing against the wound on his shoulder as they run. Blood seeps through his fingers, staining the fabric of his shirt a deeper crimson. Mikasa glances over, her brows knitting with worry.

"Eren, stop," she says, tugging gently at his arm.

"We can't stop," he argues, his voice strained, his steps faltering. "Armin's at the library. We need to get to him."

"You're bleeding," she insists. "Please, just stop for a second."

Eren pauses, his chest heaving, the world around him tilting slightly. His head feels light, like his balance is barely tethered to the ground. Mikasa steadies him and leads him toward one of the nearby buildings.

He glances over his shoulder at the gym in the distance. The faint sound of a man's voice over a microphone echoes from the area.

"What's wrong?" Mikasa asks.

"It's nothing," he mutters, shaking his head.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. He fishes it out with his uninjured hand, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

Mikasa catches a glimpse: Historia.

Eren answers quickly, putting the phone on speaker. "Historia?"

A relieved sigh comes through the line. "Thank God you're alive," she breathes.

Eren stiffens. "What about Armin? Where is he? Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Historia assures him. "A little hurt, but he's with Ymir. There were only two guys keeping watch on him so it didn't take long."

Zeke didn't think he would go for Armin. He knew Eren would come for Mikasa. That's why he stayed with her.

"We're headed to the clinic. Erwin's sending one of the school nurses there to treat him," Historia continues. "Is Mikasa with you? Is she okay?"

Eren's gaze shifts to Mikasa. She's kneeling beside him, her hands pressing firmly against his wounded shoulder to stem the bleeding. "Yeah," he says quietly, his voice softening. "She's okay."

Mikasa catches the look in his eyes. It's brief, but it's enough to wake up something inside her. Relief, gratitude, maybe something deeper—it's all there, and it sinks into her like a warmth she doesn't know how to name.

Historia sighs again. "Good. Head to the clinic. We'll meet you there."

The call disconnects, but neither of them move right away. Eren exhales shakily. Mikasa presses harder against the wound, her hands slick with his blood.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't gone to the tower, if Armin hadn't followed me—" She pauses, her breath hitching. "If I hadn't been so curious—"

"Stop," Eren says suddenly.

She blinks, startled. "What?"

"I don't know what to say," he admits. "I don't particularly want to say anything." His gaze drops and there's a faint tremor in his hands. "Everything went wrong tonight. I felt fear for the first time in a long time. My brother is here. I'm fighting a battle that's bigger than me, but..."

His voice trails off, and when he looks at her again, his expression shifts. There's something raw in his eyes. He leans in, his breath ghosting against her lips.

Mikasa freezes, her heart thundering in her chest. She can't breathe, can't think.

"You need to stop apologizing because I don't care about all that. I just...I'm just so happy you're safe," Eren murmurs, his voice softer now, almost pleading. His lips hover just inches from hers, and his gaze drops, flicking down to her mouth before meeting her eyes again. "And you should stop me from doing this now if you don't want to."

She doesn't move.

And when his lips finally press against hers, she doesn't stop him.

The kiss is tentative at first, like he's testing the waters, unsure if he's allowed this moment. But then Mikasa leans in, her lips parting against his, and something snaps between them. The kiss deepens, raw and unrestrained, like they're both pouring everything they can't say into it.

His free hand finds the curve of her jaw, his thumb brushing her skin with a tenderness that sends a shiver down her spine. She tastes the faint metallic tang of blood, feels the uneven rise and fall of his chest against hers, and it's all so overwhelming.

But it feels right.

Her world, chaotic and shattered as it is, seems to still in this moment. The air feels heavier, like everything hinges on this connection between them. His lips are warm, insistent, pulling her closer even as she tries to catch her breath.

When they finally pull apart, Mikasa's chest heaves, her lips tingling and her head spinning. Eren rests his forehead against hers, his eyes half-lidded as he stares at her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, but there's no regret in his voice.

She shakes her head slightly, her hands still resting against his shoulder. "Don't apologize either," she says.

Because for the first time tonight, despite the chaos, the fear, and the pain, Mikasa feels whole.

At the clinic, Mikasa sits on the edge of her chair, her fingers twisting together in her lap. Her gaze flicks briefly across the room before settling on the floor. The nurse works silently at Eren's side, tending to the wound on his shoulder. The bullet hadn't done much damage, thankfully, but the amount of blood he'd lost still makes her stomach twist uncomfortably.

Eren, however, looks unbothered as he talks to Armin, who cradles his sprained wrist against his chest. Mikasa can't hear anything they're saying. Her chest feels heavy, and her mind is a whirlwind of fractured thoughts. On the other side of the room, Historia is on the phone, loudly spilling lies to her father. Mikasa doesn't realize she's been staring at the blonde until Historia catches her and then she looks away. Guilt settles in her chest. She kissed Historia's boyfriend.

She kissed Eren Yeager.

And she liked it.

The door creaks open suddenly, and Mikasa looks up. Principal Erwin steps inside. For a moment, it feels as if the air shifts, brighter somehow, though she can't put her finger on why. His blue eyes sweep across the room, taking everything in. Then, his gaze lands on her, and his expression softens just slightly. "Are you okay, Mikasa?" he asks.

She nods quickly, the lump in her throat making it hard to speak. But as she glances around, she realizes the others are all staring at her—Ymir and Historia, Armin and Eren.

Her gaze lingers on Eren for a moment too long, and her eyes drop to his lips before she catches herself and looks away. Her heart stumbles in her chest, and a quiet unease settles in her bones. She feels like an outsider here, surrounded by people who clearly know more than she does.

Eren's world, the one she was drawn into tonight, is full of shadows and secrets. She's certain of that now. If she hadn't let her curiosity get the better of her, if she'd just kept her distance, she wouldn't be here. But she had, and now she doesn't know where she fits—or if she fits at all.

"Mikasa," Erwin says, his voice cutting gently through her thoughts, "you should head to the gym."

Her brow furrows. "The gym?"

He nods. "The conference is nearly over, but your friend is there. Miss Braun."

"Sasha?" Mikasa sits up straighter.

"She made a report to me during the conference," Erwin continues. "Said you sent her a pretty alarming text and haven't been answering her calls. I promised to handle it so you should go see her, just to ease her worries."

Mikasa doesn't hesitate. She stands quickly, almost too quickly, and nods. "Right. Thank you."

The others watch her as she moves toward the door. She wonders if they're glad she's leaving so they can really talk.

Once she steps outside, the air feels cooler, lighter, and she takes a deep breath. Tonight has been a lot and it's not even midnight yet. She begins to walk toward the gym.

Then, behind her, she hears hurried footsteps. She turns, her heart leaping in her chest, and sees Eren jogging toward her.

"Eren," she gasps softly, stopping in her tracks. "You shouldn't be running. Your shoulder—"

He shrugs, brushing off her concern. "It's nothing."

Mikasa stares at him, her eyes drifting to the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. The sight of it twists something deep inside her. "You shouldn't have taken that bullet for me," she says quietly, her voice trembling just enough for him to notice.

Eren steps closer. "I'd take many more bullets for you," he says simply.

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she doesn't know how to respond. She blinks, trying to process the tone of his voice. Finally, she turns away and starts walking again. Eren falls into step beside her, silent now, but his presence is enough to make her chest tighten.

The distance to the gym feels longer than it should. And though neither of them says a word, Mikasa is acutely aware of him beside her—the way his breaths sync with hers, the rhythm of his footsteps matching her own.

"About what happened...after we got out," she says after a few minutes, her voice barely above a whisper.

She glances up and finds him watching her. He's waiting.

"I won't tell Historia," Mikasa says finally, her words rushed as though saying them quickly will lessen the impact.

Eren blinks, his face shifting briefly into something like confusion before he exhales heavily. "She won't care anyway," he says.

Mikasa furrows her brow. "Why wouldn't she care? You two are in a—"

"I'm not dating Historia," Eren interrupts, looking away. "Our relationship is fake."

Mikasa stops in her tracks, her body going rigid. "What?"

Eren turns to face her fully, the faint glow of a nearby light catching in his tired eyes. "I only agreed to pretend so she'd tell me where you were most likely being held during the ball. "

Mikasa's stomach drops, her mind reeling as she tries to piece together his words.

A flicker of something asses over Eren's face. "Plus if you thought I had a girlfriend, the chances of you...falling for me again would be low."

Her heart stutters, the words sinking in like lead. "What are you talking about?" she whispers.

He doesn't answer immediately. Then Mikasa remembers Zeke's cryptic words.

Eren is fighting fate.

Mikasa takes a shaky step back, her pulse hammering in her ears. "Is it true? What your brother said...about alternate realities and...all that stuff."

Eren doesn't look away. His silence is louder than any answer he could give.

"What are those things I see in my visions?" Mikasa presses. "Those flashes, those moments that don't make sense. What are they?"

Eren's expression softens just slightly, and for a moment, she thinks he might not answer. But then he speaks. "They're us. In past realities."

Her breath catches. "That...that doesn't make any sense," she says, shaking her head in disbelief.

"None of what I'm about to tell you does," Eren admits.

And then he begins to tell her.

He tells her about the original reality, the version of her he grew up with, the one he loved and damned the earth for. He tells her about the countless loops, the endless cycles they've lived through. About how he remembers every version of them—every failure, every loss, every fleeting moment of happiness they couldn't hold on to.

He tells her how he tried to break the loop a few times, how he fought against forces so vast and incomprehensible.

He tells her about the cost of trying to change fate.

With each word, Mikasa feels her world shift beneath her feet. And by the time Eren finishes, she is staring at him as though seeing him for the first time. Her heart feels heavy, her chest tight, and her mind is a chaotic mess of emotions she can't untangle.

But one thing is clear: nothing will ever be the same.

Chapter Text

When the two arrive at the gym, the conference is over. Parents and teachers litter around outside, saying goodbye and chatting. Eren spots Carla amongst them, her coat draped loosely over her shoulders.

His heart leaps at the sight of her. Without thinking, he takes off running. “Mom!” he calls, his voice cracking slightly.

Carla’s eyes widen in surprise, and before she can react, Eren wraps her in a tight hug. She hesitates for a moment, stunned, but then her arms come around him, holding him just as tightly.

“You’re safe,” Eren says softly, his voice muffled against her shoulder. “You’re safe.”

Carla pulls back slightly, just enough to look at him, her hands still gripping his arms. “Of course I’m safe,” she says, her voice tinged with confusion. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you all night. Your dad just left.”

Eren releases her and steps back, suddenly aware of Mikasa standing a few feet away. Carla follows his gaze and spots her.

“Oh, you were with Mikasa," she says, grinning.

Eren glances at Mikasa. She hasn’t said much since he told her the truth earlier. She meets Carla’s gaze and offers a small, polite smile, though it doesn't reach her eyes. The two hug and then Carla hands her a bag. “Here,” she says. “I packed a few things for you—some clothes, toiletries, and there’s food in there too.”

Mikasa hesitates but then takes the bag, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you, Mrs. Yeager.”

Carla smiles warmly, taking Mikasa’s hand gently in hers. “Come on, sweetheart. Tell me all about school.”

Mikasa glances at Eren briefly, then allows Carla to lead her toward the parking lot. Eren follows a few steps behind, his eyes fixed on them. He knows Mikasa must feel overwhelmed after everything that’s happened tonight, and it’s all his fault. Zeke is here because of him, and the danger that brought them to this moment is something he can never take back.

They reach Carla’s car, and she yawns as she unlocks it. Turning to face them, she smiles softly. “I’m so glad you’re looking out for each other,” she says. She looks between them, her gaze lingering on Eren. “The end-of-year holidays are coming up soon. You should both come home together, okay?”

Eren nods. “Okay,” he says. He steps forward and hugs her again, tighter this time. She rests her cheek against his head for a moment before pulling back to kiss his forehead.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nods again, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

She gives him a soft smile, though her eyes glisten. “It’s the first time in a while you’ve hugged me like that,” she says. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Eren ducks his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Carla steps back and waves to both of them. “Goodnight, you two. Take care of each other.”

They watch as she gets into the car, starts the engine, and drives away from the gym. The red taillights fade into the night, disappearing down the quiet campus road.

Eren stands there for a moment, staring after her. The air feels colder now, and it's silent again now that it's just him and Mikasa. He turns to face her and sees that she’s watching him. For a moment, they just look at each other, neither saying a word.

Eren's heart hammers in his chest. He steps closer to her, hesitates, then takes her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Tell me what’s on your mind,” he says softly.

Mikasa’s gaze drops to where his hand holds hers, and she doesn’t pull away. But she doesn’t speak either.

“Please,” he presses, his voice almost a whisper now. “If you have questions, I’ll answer them. If you’re confused about anything you’ve seen, I’ll—”

“I’m not her.”

Her words cut through his sentence, stopping him mid-thought. He blinks at her, his brow furrowing. “What?”

“I’m not her,” Mikasa repeats, pulling her hand away. She looks up at him. “I’m not your Mikasa. Or any of the 'Mikasas' you’ve seen. I’m not any of them. I’m...different. I’m me,”

Eren's lips part slightly as he stares at her.

“What you feel for me,” Mikasa continues, her voice softer now, “it’s only a remnant of what you felt for your Mikasa. That’s what I’ve been thinking about.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. Eren searches her face, looking for something—anything—to say. But the words don’t come.

Mikasa's gaze slips from his. “I should go find Sasha,” she says flatly, as if she’s eager to leave this moment behind.

She turns and begins walking away. Eren’s heart pounds in his chest, each beat more frantic than the last. She’s right. She is different. In so many ways. She’s not the Mikasa he remembers or the ones he saw in those other realities. But she is the one who threw a shoe at his head, the one he spent weeks training, the one he unraveled Christmas lights with, the one he couldn't stay away from even when he swore he would.

The one he took a bullet for.

“What if I wanted to know this Mikasa?” he calls out suddenly.

She stops in her tracks. She doesn’t turn around right away, but her head tilts slightly. Slowly, she turns to face him, her expression uncertain.

Eren takes a cautious step forward, his gaze locked on hers. “Would you let me get to know her?” he asks.

Her lips part as if to respond, but no words come. She looks at him, and for the first time, she seems unsure. Vulnerable.

Before she can say anything, a voice rings out through the air.

“Mikasa!”

They both turn to see Sasha sprinting toward them, her arms flailing as she closes the distance. Mikasa blinks in surprise, and a small smile flickers across her face, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Eren watches as Sasha crashes into Mikasa, nearly knocking the bag out of her hands. “You scared me!” Sasha exclaims, hugging her tightly. “Why weren’t you answering your phone? I thought something happened to you!”

Mikasa stares at Sasha for a moment before wrapping an arm around her, her expression softening. “I’m fine, Sasha,” she says quietly.

Eren takes a step back, his chest tightening. Mikasa glances at him briefly, as if remembering he’s still there. He nods at her, and then turns away.

As he walks into the shadows, he can still feel her gaze on him, even as Sasha chatters excitedly in her ear. Maybe Mikasa is right—she’s not the same. She’s something entirely new.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what he needs.

Eren sits across from Erwin at the small table, his posture slouched as he props an elbow on the armrest of his chair. His other hand taps idly against the surface, the faint rhythm filling the silence between them. Erwin watches him, his eyes unreadable, though the faint furrow of his brow suggests he’s deep in thought. The only other sound is the faint clink of a spoon against porcelain as Erwin stirs his coffee.

Eren sighs, breaking the tension. “What is it?” he asks. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

Erwin doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he sets the spoon aside and folds his hands on the table. “You didn’t tell me you had a brother,” he says finally.

Eren raises a brow. “That’s because I didn’t know I had a brother in this reality.”

Erwin narrows his eyes slightly at the answer, scrutinizing him like a puzzle. He leans back in his chair, his fingers curling loosely around the handle of his coffee cup. “Tell me about Zeke,” he says after a beat.

Eren exhales sharply through his nose and leans back in his seat, his gaze drifting to the window. “The Zeke I knew was...complicated. He wasn’t just my brother; he was my enemy. He worked with Marley, but in his mind, he thought he was saving Eldians. He had this plan—this twisted plan—to sterilize every Eldian, to end our suffering by ending our existence.”

Erwin doesn’t flinch, but his grip tightens around the coffee cup.

“Zeke was smart,” Eren continues. “Dangerously smart. He could manipulate anyone. But he wasn’t just cunning—he was powerful too. He was the Beast Titan, and he used that power to destroy countless lives."

Erwin’s spoon clinks softly against his cup as he stirs his coffee again, though his expression remains stoic. “How did he end up?” he asks, lifting the cup to his lips.

Eren’s eyes darken. “Levi killed him.”

Erwin freezes mid-sip, his eyes widening as the shock hits him. A second later, he chokes, coughing violently as he sets the cup down. It wobbles precariously before toppling over, spilling dark liquid across the table.

“Why?” Erwin sputters, his voice hoarse as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Eren shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Retribution, maybe. Zeke was the one who killed you.”

Erwin blinks at that. His gaze drops to the coffee pooling on the table. “So that Zeke,” he says slowly, “is this Zeke.”

Eren nods. “Yeah. Zeke died while he was connected to the Paths. He believes that when someone connected to the founding titan in the Paths dies, it’s like...a part of them lingers. A remnant of their consciousness that is able to access other realities."

Erwin picks up a napkin, blotting the coffee absently. “And he followed you here?”

“Not at first,” Eren admits, his tone grim. “I never sensed him. But he must’ve sensed me. Somehow, he followed me.”

Erwin is quiet for a long moment, the napkin now crumpled in his hand. When he finally speaks, his voice is softer. “This version of Zeke...he’s still dangerous, isn’t he?”

Eren meets his gaze. "You saw what he tried to pull on Friday."

Erwin nods slowly, his expression hardening. “Then we need to be ready.”

There's a knock at the door, making both men glance up. Erwin straightens in his chair, “Come in.”

The door creaks open, and Historia steps inside, her blonde hair catching the light from the window behind her. She smiles at Erwin, a touch of nervousness hiding beneath the surface. “Hello,” she greets softly.

Erwin nods. “How are you, Historia?” he asks

Historia sighs and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m fine,” she says, though her tone suggests otherwise. “My father was a bit upset about me being M.I.A. at the conference, but he didn’t seem to suspect anything.”

Erwin nods, though the lines of worry on his face deepen. “We need to be more careful moving forward,” he warns. “Especially with you. You’re the one upper hand we have against Rod...and now, Zeke.”

Eren tenses slightly in his chair.

Erwin doesn’t miss the reaction but continues. “Speaking of those two, we’ve confirmed they’re working together. Zeke is the one spearheading the development of the titan fluid.” His words draw a deep frown from Historia.

“These people,” Erwin continues, “have numbers and resources that we don’t. That’s why I've decided that we're bringing in backup.”

He steps away from the table and walks toward a cabinet near the wall. “At the conference,” he says, his back to them, “I didn’t serve Ambrosia to the guests.”

Historia blinks, confused. “Why?”

“Because something was off,” Erwin replies, turning to face them. “Rod specifically requested that it be served, which made me suspicious. Instead, I had it sent to someone capable of examining its contents along with the syringe the men at the clock tower intended to use on Armin,” Erwin adds.

Historia looks startled. “Wait, who’s smart enough to do that?”

Before Erwin can answer, Eren exhales deeply, already suspecting what’s coming.

Erwin crosses the room and opens the door.

“Hiii, kids!” Hange’s voice rings out as they step inside.

“Of course,” Eren mutters under his breath, sinking back in his chair.

But there’s more. A second figure steps into the room behind Hange, his short frame casting a tall shadow. Levi doesn’t say a word, his eyes scanning the room like he’s assessing a battlefield.

Historia gasps softly.

“Levi,” Erwin says, though his tone is less formal. He clasps his hands behind his back as he looks at the group. “Levi and Hange know everything there is to know,” he says firmly. “They will be joining us from now on.”

Eren meets his gaze, his green eyes narrowing. A faint twitch in Erwin’s jaw gives him away.

So not everything.

Erwin looks away. “So, shall we begin?”

Chapter Text

Hange grunts loudly as they haul a large, scuffed suitcase into the room. The metal clasps rattle as they drop it onto the floor with a thud. “Alright!” they announce, crouching over the case and flicking it open.

The first thing they pull out is a bottle of wine, its glass glinting in the light. They hand it off to Erwin without ceremony. “Hold that,” they say, and Erwin takes it silently, his brow arching.

The second item is a small sealed tube filled with a pale, viscous liquid. Hange holds it up between their fingers, turning it so the contents catch the light. “This,” they declare, “is what was inside the syringe you provided, Principal.”

“What’s in it?” Eren asks, leaning forward slightly.

“Good question,” Hange says with a grin, spinning the tube in their fingers like a toy. “It’s a weird mix—some components I recognized, others...not so much. There are traces of something that resembles a neurotransmitter. But there are also foreign elements that I have no clue about. I ran every test I could think of, and my results are still inconclusive." They pause, tilting their head. “Honestly, I’ve never seen anything quite like it. It's incredible.”

Eren's gaze settles on the tube. In the original reality, titans were created by injecting them with spinal fluid. In a world where that doesn't exist? What could Zeke have put together?

Hange stares at the tube grimly. "Based on my analysis, there are two things I can tell you with relative certainty," they begin.

They flip open the folder and tap their finger against the first page. "First, I believe this compound is capable of rewriting a person's DNA."

"What?" Levi asks.

"Secondly, there was none of it in the wine."

Historia frowns, crossing her arms. “What do you mean there was none of it in the wine?"

“Yup,” Hange says brightly. “Not a single trace. And I checked all the other bottles too.”

“That’s not possible,” Historia murmurs, her brows knitting together. “My father specifically told me not to drink the wine because of that. He was adamant about it.”

Eren’s jaw tightens, “Zeke told me the wine was spiked too.”

Hange shrugs, utterly unfazed. “Well, I didn’t find anything suspicious in the wine. In fact,” they pause dramatically, raising their arms like a magician about to reveal a trick, “I drank some myself.”

Levi’s sharp gaze snaps to Hange, and he scowls. “What do you mean, you drank it?”

"I did!" Hange flashes a wide grin, spreading their hands innocently. “See? I’m still standing! Perfectly fine.”

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters, “I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Suit yourself,” Hange replies with a shrug, returning their attention to the open suitcase.

Eren watches e as they pull out a small cage from the case. Inside, a gray rat scurries nervously, its tiny claws scratching against the wire bars.

Levi’s reaction is immediate. His entire body stiffens, and he steps back, a hand rising to cover his nose. “What the hell is that?” he snaps.

Hange looks genuinely confused for a moment. “It’s a rat,” they say slowly, as if explaining to a child.

“I can see that,” Levi growls.

Erwin sighs heavily. “Why is there a rat in my office, Hange?”

“To test the fluid, of course!” Hange says cheerfully, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Levi mutters something under his breath about a “damn maniac,” while Hange starts enthusiastically detailing the virtues of using rats for experimentation.

“See, rats share a surprising number of genetic similarities with humans,” Hange begins, pacing as they gesture with the cage. “They’re excellent test subjects, especially when you don’t have humans handy. Their physiology reacts in ways that can provide crucial insights—”

“Spare us the biology lesson,” Levi interrupts, his voice clipped. “And show us what that thing can do.”

Hange chuckles but complies, setting the cage down on Erwin’s desk with care. The rat inside squeaks, its nose twitching as it sniffs the air.

Erwin glances at the rodent, then back at Hange, his tone flat. “I trust you’ll keep this...experiment under control?”

“Of course!” Hange says, grinning ear to ear.

Erwin exchanges a glance with Eren who shrugs. Some people don't change in every reality and Hange is one of them.

Hange hums to themselves, reaching into the suitcase to retrieve a syringe. The glint of the needle catches the light as they carefully draw the viscous fluid from the sealed tube. They hold it up, tapping the syringe with precision, expelling a tiny droplet that gleams at the tip.

“Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” they mutter excitedly.

The rat in the cage skitters nervously, its small body darting from one side of the enclosure to the other. It squeaks in protest as Hange slides the needle through the narrow bars.

“Hange,” Levi warns.

“I’ve got this,” Hange replies without looking up, their focus entirely on the trembling rodent. “Just a little poke.”

With a steady hand, they inject the fluid into the rat. The creature freezes, its beady eyes wide with fear, before letting out a high-pitched squeal.

For a moment, nothing happens. The rat scurries to a corner of the cage, sniffing the air as if nothing is amiss. Then, its movements slow. Its tiny body trembles violently, its fur standing on end as if a static charge is coursing through it.

Eren leans forward, tilting his head.

“What the hell…” Levi mutters, inching further back, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his blade.

The rat’s trembling intensifies. Its body begins to contort, muscles rippling unnaturally beneath its skin. Bones crackle audibly, elongating and twisting. The small frame of the rat expands grotesquely, its fur stretching taut over swelling limbs.

Hange steps back, their expression one of pure fascination. “Incredible,” they breathe.

The rat is no longer a rat. Its beady eyes bulge, now glowing an eerie yellow, and its snout elongates into something monstrous, lined with razor-sharp teeth. It lets out a guttural roar, a sound that seems impossible for a creature its size—except it’s no longer small.

The cage creaks and groans as the creature grows, its body pressing against the metal bars. Sharp claws, now as long as daggers, rake against the enclosure, sending sparks flying.

“Get it under control!” Levi barks.

“I don't think it would—” Hange starts.

The creature lets out another deafening roar, its massive head smashing against the top of the cage. The bars begin to bend, threatening to snap under the pressure.

And then, as suddenly as it began, the transformation halts. The creature convulses violently, its grotesque form jerking and twisting as if something is tearing it apart from the inside. Its breathing becomes labored, a wet, choking sound that fills the room.

“What’s happening to it?” Historia whispers, her voice barely audible over the creature’s ragged gasps.

The monstrous rat collapses, its limbs twitching erratically. Its swollen body begins to shrink, the grotesque features melting away into something that barely resembles a living thing. Its eyes glaze over, its chest heaving one last time before it stills.

The room falls silent, the only sound the soft clink of the cage settling back into place.

Hange approaches cautiously, their eyes widened as they peer into the cage. The creature’s corpse is a warped, shriveled husk, its flesh pulled tight over brittle bones.

“Well,” they say after a long pause, “that was...unexpected.”

“What the hell was that?” Levi snaps.

“An experiment,” Hange replies, their tone lacking its usual levity. “And apparently, a lethal one.”

Erwin exhales deeply and turns to Eren. “It doesn't look like it's complete but if that’s what this fluid does, then we’re dealing with something far worse than we thought.”

Eren nods. A sinking feeling makes it's way to his chest as he stares at the twisted remains of the rat. Whatever this fluid was, it wasn’t just dangerous—it was horrifying.

When Eren and Historia step out of the administration building, the crisp afternoon air bites at their skin. The sun hangs low in the sky, casting long shadows across the cobblestone paths that move through the campus. Historia walks beside him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she mutters.

Eren glances at her but doesn’t respond.

“Do you think that’s what they’re using those people for?” she asks suddenly, her voice cracking slightly. She turns to him, her blue eyes searching his face for something. “The people they kidnap… do you think that’s what they’re doing to them?”

Eren doesn’t hesitate. “Most likely, yeah.”

Historia stops in her tracks, wrapping her arms around herself more tightly. Her shoulders hunch forward, and her lips press into a thin line. “He needs to be stopped,” she says quietly. “My father needs to be stopped. He’s…a bad person.”

Eren pauses, turning to face her. He narrows his eyes at her. “He’s always been a bad person,” he says matter-of-factly. “That’s probably why your sister left.”

Historia flinches, her expression momentarily crumpling before she schools it into something unreadable. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t look at him. An awkward and brittle silence stretches between them.

“You and I...we don't have time to worry about any of this. We need to get stronger instead,” he said. “This fight is bigger than all of us now.”

She looks away and Eren looks around, noting the sparse scattering of students heading to and from buildings. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glancing briefly at the clock tower in the distance. He needs to get to class. But before that, there’s something else he needs to do.

“Hey,” he says, turning back to Historia. She blinks, meeting his gaze. “We need to break up.”

Her entire body stiffens. “What?” she says, her voice barely audible.

“I’d like to end this fake relationship,” Eren clarifies.

Historia stares at him, blinking rapidly as if she’s trying to process his words. "Are you serious?"

He nods.

"Oh wow," she presses her lips together for a moment. “Can I ask why?” she finally asks. "Did you meet someone?" she gasps. "Is it Mikasa?"

Eren turns on his heel and walks away.

"Come on! At least tell me!"

“I’ll trust you to spread the news,” he says over his shoulder.

The classroom hums with chatter as students settle into their seats, their voices filling the space. Mikasa sits near the back, her hands folded neatly on her desk, her gaze fixed on the clock above the blackboard. The seconds tick by, and she tries to ignore the restless energy coiling in her chest.

Sasha, seated in the row in front of her, turns in her chair, her brown eyes wide “Did you guys hear about Eren and Historia?” she asks.

Mikasa’s head snaps toward her before she can stop herself, her heart skipping a beat.

“What about them?” Connie asks from across the aisle, leaning forward with his eyebrows raised.

“They broke up,” Sasha says, glancing around.

“What?” Connie’s jaw drops. “When? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha admits, shrugging. “I overheard some girl talking about it in the bathroom earlier.”

Jean, sitting in front of Coonie, scoffs and leans back in his chair. “Not surprised,” he mutters. “That relationship was weird. I never saw them kiss or hug or anything. They were just… always together.”

Mikasa’s stomach twists, her fingers tightening around the edge of her desk. Her mind races with questions, fragments of thoughts colliding. Why did they break up? Why now?

The door swings open, and Hange strides in, a stack of papers clutched in one hand. “All right, everyone, up! Go sit with your partners!” they announce, waving a hand toward the classroom like a conductor directing an orchestra.

Chairs scrape against the floor as students rise and shuffle to their assigned lab partners. Mikasa stands slowly and begins to move toward the window, where Eren sits with his notebook open in front of him. His pen taps rhythmically against the page. He doesn't notice her approaching.

The golden rays of the late afternoon sunlight catch in his hair, messy strands curling slightly at the edges. His jawline flexes as he chews the end of his pen and his eyes narrow at the notebook. To Mikasa, he's beautiful in a way makes her chest ache.

She pulls her stool back, and the sound breaks his concentration. He looks up, blinking as if coming out of a daze. When his gaze settles on her, his expression shifts, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Hi," he greets, his voice soft.

Her chest tightens. She remembers the way he kissed her that night, the world shrinking down to just the two of them. His lips had been warm, soft, and insistent, moving against hers like he couldn’t get enough, like she was the only thing he really needed. His hands had cupped her face with a tenderness that contradicted the desperation of his kiss, his fingers trembling slightly as if she might disappear if he let go.

She can still taste him sometimes, the faint hint of something sweet lingering in her mind, mingling with the way his breath had hitched when he pulled her closer.

“Hi,” she replies, sliding onto the stool beside him.

His eyes light up and Mikasa studies him, searching for any sign of what might be going on in his head. He broke up with Historia. Their relationship was fake. Did he end it because there was no longer a need for the pretense now that she knew the truth?

She wants to ask, but the words catch in her throat. Her eyes drift to his shoulder. “Is your shoulder okay?” she asks.

Eren nods and brushes the concern aside with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s fine. Got it checked this morning before coming in.”

Mikasa bites her bottom lip, hesitant. Her teeth press into the soft flesh, and she sees his gaze flicker there briefly before snapping back to meet hers. The subtle movement doesn’t go unnoticed, sending a subtle warmth creeping up her neck. She quickly looks away.

“I heard about…” she starts, faltering for a moment, “uh, Historia. I’m sorry.”

Eren tilts his head, confused. “Why would you be sorry?”

“Well,” Mikasa says, “the relationship was fake, but wouldn’t it… be weird now?”

He shakes his head, exhaling softly through his nose. “Her actual partner is probably the happiest person in the universe right now.”

Mikasa blinks, the words catching her off guard. “Oh. There was someone else.”

She leans back slightly, her thoughts racing. This whole group of people—Eren, Historia, whoever else might be involved—they're so complicated.

Before she can say anything else, Hange moves through the room, passing out papers. “All right, everyone, here’s what we’re working on today!” they announce.

Hange drops two sheets on Mikasa’s desk, and she picks them up, her fingers brushing against Eren’s as she passes one to him. The moment their skin touches, a jolt surges through her, and her vision blurs.

It happens all at once.

She sees herself and Eren in the dark, shadows dancing across their intertwined bodies. His hands are on her, sliding down her belly, igniting a fire that feels both foreign and familiar. He kisses her neck, his breath hot against her skin. She moans and arches into him, her legs parting as he settles between them, his hips rolling against hers.

The vision fades as quickly as it came.

Mikasa sucks in a sharp breath, her cheeks burning. She glances at him, and her pulse quickens when she finds him watching her. “Did you just…?” His voice is cautious.

Mikasa nods stiffly, her fingers curling into the edge of the desk.

“What was it about?” he asks.

She shakes her head quickly and looks away, heat rising in her cheeks. “Nothing,” she mutters, her voice barely audible.

"Mikasa..."

She turns her head slightly and meets his eyes, “These visions… You said they’re glimpses from other realities. What kind of realities?”

Eren leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he considers her question. “Well,” he begins, “from what I’ve noticed, they’re realities I actually lived through.”

Mikasa frowns, confusion furrowing her brow. “Lived through?”

Eren glances toward Hange, who is occupied at the front of the room, giving directions to a few students. He leans closer, lowering his voice so only she can hear. “Yeah,” he says. “I witnessed a thousand different realities, but I could only enter the bodies of the Eren Yeagers in some of them. And even then, it was only for a short while.”

Her confusion deepens, and she tilts her head slightly, her dark hair falling over her shoulder. “The first time was… an accident,” Eren continues, “But after that, I tried to change things. To help. Especially when I realized our… fate.”

That last word lands heavily, and Mikasa feels her stomach drop. Their tragic fate.

Eren's expression tightens briefly before he composes himself. “Armin has visions too,” he says, shifting the focus. “From what he’s told me, all of them are from the realities I actually lived through. They’re limited to the times when I was in that body. Not things I only saw—things I experienced.”

Mikasa’s jaw slackens as realization dawns, the pieces falling into place. Her mind races back to her vision, to the heat of his hands and the press of his lips, and she clears her throat sharply, trying to dispel the thought. “That means,” she says, her voice faltering for a moment, “when you were in that body, you and… that Mikasa…”

"What?" Eren asks, looking at her curiously.

She shakes her head, refusing to finish the sentence. “If I asked you,” she begins, “would you tell me the story behind every vision?”

Eren’s expression softens, and he nods without hesitation. “If you want to know, sure.”

She blinks at him. “You were so adamant about hiding all of this from me before,” she says, studying his face. “Why now?”

A small, rueful smile tugs at Eren’s lips. “There was a moment,” he says quietly. “That night when I got the call from Zeke, while I was running to the library… there was this moment when I thought I’d lost you. Again. In this reality.”

Mikasa’s chest tightens.

“It hurt. I couldn't handle it again,” Eren admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t handle the thought of losing you in a thousand and one lifetimes.” He straightens slightly, his gaze locking onto hers. “I was serious, Mikasa. About wanting to know you. If you’ll let me, I want to know everything."

The air in her lungs seems to vanish, her breath catching in her throat.

Eren stretches his hand and begins to draw circles on her open palm. "I want to know the things that make you smile when you think no one’s watching. I want to know your favorite songs, the ones you sing when you’re distracted. I want to know what you dream about when you fall asleep and what scares you enough to keep you awake. I want to know the little things—like how you take your tea, or if you even like tea,"

He pauses, his green eyes locking onto hers. “I want to know the sound of your voice when you’re happy, really happy. I want to know why your laugh feels like it could fix everything, and why just looking at you makes me forget how broken the world is.”

Mikasa's heart pounds in her chest and she swears the room feels smaller, quieter.

Eren exhales softly. “I want to know you. Right here. Right now," he says. "I’m done running. If I have to, I’ll fight it. I’ll fight fate itself. For you. If you’ll let me.”

Chapter Text

Hey everyone, Kiyo here…

I'm really sorry to say there won't be an update this week. I sprained my wrist, and typing is a bit too difficult right now. I feel bad about the delay, but I don't want to push it and make things worse. Hopefully, I'll be back next week, but I'll keep you all posted. Thanks so much for your patience and support, it really means a lot!

Chapter Text

Armin tips his water bottle back, taking slow sips as he watches Annie move through her training routine. Her punches are fast, precise. Sweat clings to her forehead, strands of blonde hair sticking to her skin, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Or care. She’s so… pretty.

Eren’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “So, when are you gonna tell her you like her?”

Armin sputters, choking on his water. He coughs violently and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Wh—what?” His voice cracks. “You can’t just say things like that!”

Eren shrugs. “Why not? It’s true.” He leans against a rack of weights, watching Armin with a knowing smirk. “Only reason you tag along to the gym and our defense classes is to see her.”

Armin grumbles, avoiding his gaze. “That’s not entirely true.”

But he doesn’t argue further, and Eren doesn’t push. For a moment, Armin just watches him—how he grabs a towel, twisting the fabric in his hands but not using it, his expression far away. His jaw clenches slightly, like there’s something on his mind. Armin narrows his eyes.

“What?” Eren asks, noticing the stare.

Armin exhales. “What’s the update? On the serum.”

Eren blinks, then tosses the towel over his shoulder. “Hange’s still studying it. Trying to find a way to neutralize its effects. We need to do that before Zeke submits the finished products to the Reiss stakeholders in a few weeks, so we’ll have something to counter it if it's used.”

Armin narrows his eyes. “But why wait? Why not—”

“We’re not just waiting.” Eren interrupts. He wipes a hand down his face, sighing. “I actually hope it won't get to that. Historia's trying to find out the location of the Sanctuary.” His gaze hardens. “When she does, we’ll take it down.”

The sanctuary. The place where all the kidnapped victims are being held. Experimented on.

Armin swallows. He’s tried not to dwell too much on what they must be going through, but sometimes—late at night—the thoughts creep in anyway. The horror of it. The uncertainty.

He shakes his head, pushing the thoughts aside.

Eren steps past him, moving toward the bench press. “C’mon,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Spot me.”

He exhales, nods, and follows.

Later that day, Armin’s hands are clammy as he stands outside Erwin’s office. The hallway is quiet, the overhead lights humming faintly. He swallows, shifting on his feet. His heart beats a little too fast, but he forces himself to raise his fist and knock.

A brief silence. Then—

“Come in.”

Armin exhales and pushes the door open. The moment he steps inside, he stops short.

Erwin stands near his desk, flipping through a file, but it’s Levi who makes him freeze. The man is perched casually on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, sharp gaze flicking toward him as if sizing him up. The door clicks shut behind Armin, but his feet feel rooted to the floor.

Armin has had enough visions by now to get the gist of who Levi was in the original realities. Humanity's strongest soldier. A skilled warrior. A hero. His fear and respect for that version of Levi has somehow bled over to this reality. It takes him a moment to gather his bearings, but Armin finally manages, "Um... hi."

Levi narrows his eyes at him. Erwin doesn't look up from the file, though he does acknowledge him. "Armin," he says casually before he looks up and studying him. “What’s going on?”

Armin licks his lips. His throat feels too dry. He wasn’t expecting Levi to be here. That complicates things.

Still, he can’t back out now.

He straightens, fists clenched at his sides. “What if there’s another way?” His voice is steadier than he expected. “A way to find the sanctuary, to catch Zeke, to put an end to the experiments before the serum is complete.”

Erwin’s brow furrows, and Levi pushes himself off the desk. “What are you talking about?” Levi asks.

Armin hesitates, just for a second, then forces the words out. “I may… have an idea.”

Erwin and Levi exchange a look. Then Erwin takes a deep breath. “Go on.”

Armin exhales. He should be relieved that they’re listening, but instead, his stomach twists. Because this next part is the real risk. “Before I do, you have to promise me that you won't tell the rest yet. They can’t know,” he says. His voice is quieter now. “Especially not Eren. That’s why I came straight here.”

Another glance passes between the two men.

Erwin crosses his arms, expression unreadable. He considers for a long moment before finally nodding. “I’m listening.”

Armin swallows. His nerves haven’t gone away, but at least now—he has their attention. This plan is risky, but maybe this way he can actually help Eren. He can make up for the fact that he hasn't always been strong enough.

He looks from Erwin to Levi, his hands shaking.

"Okay," Armin begins. "Here's what I have in mind."

The air in the gym is cool as Mikasa steps inside. Empty. Good.

She rolls her shoulders, exhaling slowly. Lately, she’s been coming here after classes, when most of the others have already finished. It’s quieter this way, less chance of distractions. Less chance of running into him.

Her boots echo against the polished floor as she makes her way toward the changing rooms. The door swings shut behind her with a soft thud, and the moment she’s alone, she sighs.

Love confessions. She’s never gotten anything like that before. Does Jean count?

She shakes her head and pulls open her locker, grabbing a fresh set of training clothes. She should focus. Train. Push everything else aside. But even as she changes, her mind refuses to cooperate.

Eren.

Her fingers falter on the zipper of her hoodie as the thought of him floods her mind. His voice, confessing to wanting to know this Mikasa. His touch, the way his fingers had skimmed her skin like he had every right to.

Heat blooms at the base of her neck, crawling up to her face, and she groans under her breath. She shouldn’t have felt flattered. Shouldn’t have let herself get swept up in his words.

Because if she does—if she just accepts that her feelings for Eren are a result of some predetermined fate she has no control over—then what does that say about her?

Mikasa yanks on her gloves, the leather creaking as she tightens her fingers into a fist. No. Fate doesn’t get to decide this for her.

She does.

She makes her way back to the gym where she sets up a dummy in the center of the room. When she's done, she exhales, rolling her shoulders.

The first punch is quick and forceful, a loud crack echoing through the empty gym.

One. Two. Three.

Mikasa forces herself to focus, to channel everything into her form. Feet planted. Hips aligned. Strike. Recover.

The dummy rocks slightly with each blow, its padded surface absorbing the impact. She pivots on the ball of her foot and aims a precise kick at its midsection. It’s not enough. Not yet. She resets, preparing to go again—

“You’re dropping your left shoulder too much.”

The voice comes from behind her, and she spins sharply, her heart lurching in surprise.

Eren stands a few feet away, leaning against the wall, watching her with a lazy sort of intensity. The lights cast soft shadows on his face, accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw, the stray strands of dark hair falling into his eyes. He’s wearing a hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his hands relaxed at his sides.

Mikasa swallows, schooling her expression. “What are you doing here? This isn’t your usual time.”

Eren raises his brow. “How would you know that?” he asks. His lips curve slightly, teasing. “Have you been looking out for me, Mikasa?”

She opens her mouth, heat creeping up her neck, but before she can form a response, he begins to walk toward her. 

“I forgot something in the gym earlier. Just came back to get it.”

Before she can respond, his hands are on her shoulders. 

“Here.” His voice is lower now. “You keep letting this drop.” His fingers press lightly against her left shoulder, lifting it into position. 

Mikasa can’t focus. All she can think about is how close he is, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his lashes cast long shadows over his cheeks. How had she never noticed before how striking his eyes were up close? A deep, unreadable green, intense in a way that makes her breath feel too tight in her lungs.

“Try again.”

She does. Focusing is suddenly difficult, but she manages to land the strike, properly this time.

Eren nods approvingly. “That’s good.”

Mikasa exhales. But her heart is still racing for reasons that have nothing to do with training. She watches as Eren steps back and gives her a curt nod

"See you around," he says.

But before he can turn, Mikasa speaks. “You should take it back,” she says quietly.

Eren pauses. His brows furrow slightly as he looks at her. “Take what back?”

“The scarf.” She licks her lips. “I saw it in my vision. I don’t think I should keep it.”

For a moment, Eren just stares at her. Then he exhales, shaking his head. “I don’t want it back. You can do whatever you want with it.”

Mikasa grips the hem of her sleeve. “I won’t wear it.”

Eren’s expression shifts. His gaze flickers across her face, searching, before he finally lowers his eyes. Then, to her surprise, he kneels.

Mikasa stiffens. “What are you—”

“Your laces,” he mutters, fingers already working to loop them neatly into a knot. Mikasa watches, transfixed, as his hands move—calloused from training and fighting God knows who. She swallows. When did his hands become something she noticed?

When he’s done, he looks up at her from where he kneels. The angle makes her stomach flip.

“Mikasa,” he says, voice softer now. “How I feel about you… that’s no secret anymore.”

Mikasa’s breath catches.

“I know what you’re doing,” Eren continues. “I know why you’re saying this. I get that you don't think any of this makes sense, that I could possibly see you differently from the way I've seen all the other versions of you. But I do, and I’m not gonna stop trying to show you that.” His eyes don’t leave hers. “So how about this?”

She blinks. “This?”

“Three dates.”

Mikasa frowns. “Dates? As in… romantic ones? With me?"

"I mean, you're the one standing right here."

Mikasa swallows, her heart picking up speed. He's not joking. "Are you serious?"

"I'm very serious."

"Why?" she asks.

He stands slowly. "Besides the obvious fact that I have feelings for you?" he asks. "In my reality, people hardly went on dates. Between the titan attacks, the fear, the constant threat of death...it was difficult. Here, it's different. I'm adapting."

Mikasa doesn't respond. She's never imagined Eren as a romantic. But maybe he isn't. Maybe the only reason he's even considering something like this is because of her.

His words come back to her: "I'll fight it. I'll fight fate itself. For you."

“Three dates,” Eren repeats. “And after the third, if you put the scarf back on, I’ll know your answer. I’ll know you’ve accepted me.” He pauses, his gaze holding hers. “If not… then I’ll accept that you haven't.”

Mikasa's lips part. Three dates. That's it? "Okay," she finally says. "Three dates. It's a deal."

Eren grins. He actually grins, a smile spreading across his face that reaches all the way up to his eyes.

The butterflies in her belly flutter, and her mind scrambles, trying to catch up.

Something tells her she won't need three dates to fall for him.

Chapter Text

The study is lit, the scent of aged wood and faint cigar smoke lingering in the air. A heavy mahogany desk sits at the center, stacks of papers scattered across its surface, some curling at the edges. A bookshelf lines the far wall, its shelves filled with thick volumes, old and new, their spines cracked from years of use. The tick of a grandfather clock fills the silence between words.

Historia sits across from her father, watching him carefully. He looks tense—has been, ever since the parent-teacher conference. His fingers tap restlessly against the armrest of his chair, his leg bouncing slightly, something he never does. She frowns.

Rod is on a call. His voice is low but urgent.

“Yes… I’ll be there soon.” A pause. “We’re working on getting more people, but with the missing persons cases popping up lately, the authorities are watching closely. There are only so many people we can bribe.”

Historia keeps her expression blank, though her mind races. Missing persons cases. They need more people for the experiments.

Rod sighs deeply as he hangs up, pinching the bridge of his nose. Historia takes a slow breath. She has to tread carefully.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

Rod glances at her, as though he forgot she was even there. He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tenses, and then he exhales, looking away. “It’s that bastard, Zeke,” he mutters.

Historia blinks. She stands, licking her lips. She has to play the part. She has to. She’s already in too deep. “I thought you were partners,” she says, tilting her head just slightly, feigning curiosity. “What happened?”

Rod doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pushes himself up and walks toward the shelf where he keeps his liquor. He grabs a bottle of tequila, uncaps it, and pours a drink with too much force.

“That maniac doesn’t even belong in this family anyway,” he grits out before taking a long swallow. The burn of the liquor doesn’t slow him down. “I heard his mother slept with some guy in Marley and had a bastard son.” He slams the glass down. “The only reason we even accepted him was because of his knowledge of the source. That’s it.”

Historia watches him carefully.

Rod scoffs, shaking his head as he pours another drink. “I’ve spent years looking for the source. Years.” His fingers tighten around the glass. “And then some kid shows up, and suddenly, I have to answer to him. Do everything he says.”

Historia stiffens. She sees it now—the edge in his voice, the way his grip tightens, the bitter twist to his mouth.

Jealousy.

Her father is jealous of Zeke.

Historia leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed. “Maybe the family will realize he’s a fraud soon enough,” she muses, tilting her head slightly. “I mean, the experiments didn’t even work at the conference.”

Rod exhales sharply through his nose, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “That’s because there was nothing in the wine.”

Historia tries to act surprised. “What?”

Rod takes a slow sip before setting the glass down with a dull thud. “He just made me think there was.”

Her brows draw together. “Why?”

Rod shrugs, the gesture lazy, but there’s a tightness in his shoulders. “Who knows why that guy does anything?” His voice is edged with irritation, but Historia is already piecing it together.

Because he’s Eren’s brother. Because he wants to win.

She straightens, taking a step closer. “Then give me control.”

Rod’s eyes flick to hers.

“Let me help you get rid of Zeke,” she adds. 

Silence stretches between them. Historia holds his gaze, unflinching, her pulse thrumming. Rod studies her for a moment, but then something shifts. His mouth curls into something almost like a smile, cold and knowing. “Your sister was weak.” He swirls the last of the tequila in his glass and downs it in one motion. “But you—you’re different.”

Historia doesn’t look away, doesn’t react, though something in her chest tightens.

“You will be different,” Rod continues. “Maybe it's time we pay a visit to the Sanctuary.”

Historia takes a slow, deep breath.

She’s close.

Really close.

The door clicks shut behind her. Historia exhales, though her heart pounds against her ribs. The hallway stretches before her, lined with old portraits and wall sconces that cast shadows. She leans against the cool wooden paneling, pressing her fingertips to her temples.

Frieda’s face comes to mind. Would she approve of this? Would she want Historia to go this far? Historia swallows hard and straightens, smoothing out the crease in her skirt. It doesn’t matter now. She’s past the point of second-guessing.

A movement at the corner of her vision makes her glance up. A servant lingers a few feet away, half-hidden in the shadows, eyes cast downward. Historia doesn’t recognize them immediately. They hesitate before stepping forward.

Nari.

An old maid she’s known since she was a child.

“Nari,” Historia calls, forcing a smile. “What are you doing there? What’s going on?”

“My lady,” Nari murmurs, bowing slightly. “This was left for you.”

Historia frowns as they extend a folded sheet of paper toward her. The parchment is slightly crumpled, as if it’s been handled more than once, but there’s no seal, no insignia to indicate its sender.

“Who left it?” she asks, but Nari only shakes their head.

“You’ll understand when you read it.”

Her fingers tighten around the paper as Nari bows again and steps back into the darkness, leaving her alone in the corridor.

Historia’s breath catches as she carefully unfolds the note. The second she sees what’s inside, her stomach twists.

She gasps.

And the hallway suddenly feels colder.

Eren adjusts the strap of his bag as he walks alongside Mikasa, the weight of the containers in the bag barely noticeable compared to the anticipation humming beneath his skin. He casts a glance at her from the corner of his eye, watching as she moves quietly, her gaze flicking around the streets of Eldia.

They shouldn’t be out here. Campus rules were clear about leaving after hours, but Eren had wanted to take her somewhere beyond the confines of their school walls. And, to his relief, she had come without question.

The spot he leads her to is perched atop a small hill, overlooking the city. A few streetlights flicker in the distance, their reflections shimmering against the rain-slicked roads below. The air smells like earth and the faintest trace of summer still clinging to the breeze.

Mikasa stops beside him, tilting her chin up slightly as she takes in the view. Eren watches her instead. The soft moonlight brushes against her skin, and for a moment, she looks almost unreal—like a painting.

He sets the bag down and pulls out a blanket, laying it on the ground. Then he begins to take out the food he prepared.

A picnic.

One of three dates.

Mikasa sits and tucks her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, watching as he sets the last bowl down. She doesn't say a word but he can feel her gaze trailing his movements, studying him. Her silence feels louder than any other sound.

Eren exhales. His pulse is loud in his ears, but he doesn't let it stop him from settling beside her and opening a container. In the corners of his periphery, he swears her lips part, just slightly, when she spots the food, but she quickly masks it.

"Try it," he says, handing her a set of chopsticks.

She takes them and picks out a dumpling. The steam rises in thin wisps as she lowers her head to blow gently. Eren watches, transfixed. Her hair falls, soft and dark like the night, strands tumbling against her cheek. As she places the dumpling in her mouth, her eyes flick up and meet his.

"Oh," she breathes, brows lifting. Her eyes widen slightly, and it's subtle but her cheeks are a little darker when she speaks. "It tastes like...Carla's cooking."

“I learned from her.”

Mikasa pauses, her chopsticks hovering just above the rice. “You did?”

Eren nods. “I lost my mom, well, my actual mother when I was little. When I arrived here, I wanted to spend as much time with this version of her as possible. We didn't talk a lot but when she needed help in the kitchen, I tried to pick up a thing or two from her. Picked up the recipes she made, memorized them, kept them close. Kept the memory close. Kept her close."

There's a slight hesitation and a twinge of sadness as he murmurs the last bit. Mikasa considers his words before she looks down at her food, chewing slowly. “It’s good,” she says after a while, her voice quieter than before. "And so is the view. How did you find this place?"

Eren looks up at the view of the city from where he sits. Lights glow soft and bright amidst the shadows, like sparkling diamonds embedded into the earth. Buildings stand tall against the darkened sky, their windows flickering with life. Beyond, rolling hills cradle the city’s edges, mist curling at their peaks. The river snakes through the landscape, reflecting the storm clouds rolling in. From this height, everything feels distant, like a world separate from their own.

"I wanted to know all the ways in which this reality was different from mine, so I took a lot of walks in the first few months after I got out of the hospital...and trips. This was one of the places I found."

She stares at him. "Are you going to take me to the other places?" she asks.

"If you want me to, I'll take you anywhere."

He means it. But Mikasa doesn't respond to his sentiment. Instead, she picks up another piece of dumpling and eats. A comfortable silence settles between them. They eat with the city beneath them, the occasional rustle of leaves breaking the stillness. It’s peaceful, in a way that makes Eren’s heart ache.

Then the first raindrop lands on his cheek.

He blinks up at the sky. The clouds had been thick all evening, and now, inevitably, the rain begins to fall in earnest. He lets out a breath, shaking his head as he rummages through his bag. “Figures,” he mutters, pulling out the umbrella he had packed just in case.

Mikasa glances at him. “Oh, you came prepared.”

He grins. “What, you thought I’d take you out here and let you get soaked?” He pops open the umbrella and shifts closer, holding it high enough to shield both of them. “You done? we can head back.”

She nods and stands, holding the umbrella while Eren packs up. Then they begin to walk back. She moves in beside him, close enough that her shoulder brushes against his arm. Warmth seeps through his clothes, even with the damp chill settling into the air. Eren swallows, trying not to focus on how her hair smells faintly of something floral, or how her breath is soft beside him.

They walk in near silence. The rain patters against the umbrella. Eren wants to ask if she liked it, spending time with him, but the question is stuck in his throat until Mikasa says,

“It was nice."

He glances down at her. “The food?”

“The night.” She looks up at him. “But Eren… you don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

He stops walking. The rain drums against the fabric above them and all he can see is her—her dark eyes, searching his, her lips parted just slightly, begging to be kissed.

Eren exhales, running a hand through his dampening hair. Then, without thinking too hard about it, he steps forward, closing the space between them.

“You’re not just some destiny I have to accept, Mikasa,” he says, his gaze locking onto hers. “I choose you.”

Her breath catches. He sees it—the flicker of uncertainty. But she doesn’t pull away.

Eren watches her for a moment longer before stepping back, giving her space. “Three dates,” he reminds her.

Mikasa doesn’t respond right away. She just stands there, watching him. Then, slowly, she nods.

Eren exhales, a quiet relief threading through his chest. “Come on,” he murmurs, shifting the umbrella over her a little more. “Let’s get you back before you catch a cold.”

And this time, when they walk, Mikasa doesn’t hesitate before stepping closer, letting the space between them shrink just a little more.

Chapter Text

Historia,

If you’re reading this, it means something has happened to me. I wish that weren’t the case, I wish I could be there with you now, telling you everything myself instead of leaving it in ink and paper. But things changed too fast, and I couldn’t risk reaching out until now.

I don’t know how much you’ve learned. I don’t know how deep you’ve been pulled in. But I know our father. I know how he operates. I found out he’s named you, his heir. He’s brought you into the so-called family business. When I left, I never imagined he would try to replace me, and certainly not with you.

But I ran.

A few weeks before I did, our father took me to the Sanctuary. That was where I met Zeke Yeager, a distant relative of ours from Marley. Father said he was a business partner. But I later found out he was the head scientist at the Sanctuary. He was experimenting. On people. He wanted to recreate the source to create monsters he called "Titans."

Until then, I believed in everything our father told me. That our family was searching for the Source for a reason, that it was our birthright. That it would grant us power beyond imagination. But in that place, I saw the truth. I saw what it really does.

I saw monsters.

And I knew I couldn’t be a part of it.

I wanted to take you with me. I wanted to burn everything to the ground. But I barely made it out alive. I did what I could, I freed as many people as I could from one of their hideouts. I ruined some of Father’s plans. But I couldn’t stop him. Not yet.

I know he’ll never forgive me for running. I know he’s been hunting me. And now, I know he’s pulled you into this mess.

Historia, listen to me. Don’t believe anything they say. The Source isn’t a gift, it’s a curse. It creates monsters, creatures we cannot unleash upon this world.

I tried to stay away, but I can’t anymore. I’ve been making plans, gathering what little strength I have. I’m going back to the Sanctuary. I’m going to stop Zeke Yeager and put an end to those experiments.

If you’re reading this, then I failed. But you don’t have to.

I love you, Historia.

—Frieda

The scent of fresh bread and simmering broth fills the air as Historia steps into the kitchen. Maids rush between counters, slicing fruit, kneading dough, stirring pots over the crackling fire. Steam rises from a kettle in the corner, curling into the cool morning air. Historia tightens her robe around herself, her fingers trembling slightly. Nari. She needs to find Nari.

Her eyes scan the room, darting past the maids who barely glance her way. Then she sees her, an older woman with streaks of silver in her dark hair, standing near a wooden table, her hands moving swiftly as she hands a younger girl a stack of empty dishes.

“Nari.”

The name comes out firmer than she expects. Nari turns, her gray eyes widening as they meet Historia’s. A beat of silence passes before the woman straightens, pressing her lips into a thin line. Without hesitation, she waves the young girl away.

“Go on, then.”

The girl hesitates but nods, hurrying off with the dishes clinking in her arms.

Historia steps forward. “We need to talk. Yesterday, you gave me a—”

Nari reaches out, grasping Historia’s hand. “Not here,” she whispers. Her eyes flick to the maids, still moving about the room, but their gazes flick over to them now, as if they’ve taken notice. Nari leans in slightly. “The library. Upstairs.”

Historia stares at her, studying the tension in the woman’s face, the cautious way she holds herself. She nods, pulling her robe tighter as she turns away.

The warmth of the kitchen vanishes as she steps into the hall. She moves quickly, her bare feet making no sound against the polished floors. The morning light filters in through the tall windows, but Historia barely focuses on that. Her mind is too full.

Frieda ran away.

Frieda has been watching her.

Frieda went to the Sanctuary.

She grips the edge of her robe. She has to find her. She has to save her.

The grand staircase stretches before her, and she climbs it two steps at a time. The hall upstairs is quiet and empty. The library is just ahead, its heavy wooden doors looming before her.

She hesitates for only a second before pushing them open.

The scent of old paper and ink fills her nose. The room is larger than she remembers, lined from floor to ceiling with shelves, the spines of countless books stacked neatly in rows. A thick carpet muffles her footsteps as she steps inside.

She realizes then, she’s never been in here.

She lived in the house out back for so long, and even when she moved into the main house, she avoided the rooms that had been Frieda’s favorites. This library had been one of them.

Frieda loved this place.

Historia swallows hard, her fingers brushing against the edge of a nearby shelf. Her sister used to sneak books to her, slipping them to her with little notes tucked inside.

Read this one, you’ll love it.

You’re smarter than they think.

You deserve to learn.

She blinks, shaking off the memory as the door creaks behind her.

Historia turns around to see Nari shuts the door with a quiet click, turning the lock before exhaling.

“The library is quiet,” the woman says as her eyes scan the room. “It was built with soundproofed walls. Mr. Reiss insisted reading is better when there’s silence.” A faint, almost wistful smile crosses her face. “That’s why Frieda loved it.”

Historia stands rigid near the center of the room, her heart hammering in her chest. “Where is she?” she asks, clenching her fists. “Where’s my sister?”

Nari hesitates. She glances down at her hands, twisting them together before finally meeting Historia’s gaze. “I don’t know.”

Historia stiffens. “You don’t—?”

“I don’t know,” Nari repeats. She presses her lips together. “Frieda told me about her plan to run away. I... I didn’t support it.” She shakes her head, guilt flickering across her face. “I begged her to stay, to find another way. But she said she was in danger. That we all were.”

She takes a deep breath, smoothing her apron as if grounding herself. “I’ve worked here since Frieda was a child. I was here the day you were brought in.” Her voice softens at that. “I know this house has secrets. And I know that your father—” she hesitates, lowering her voice, “—is no saint.”

Historia swallows. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

Nari exhales through her nose. “Because Frieda didn’t want you to know yet.”

Historia’s hands clench into fists, frustration prickling at her skin. “That’s not a good enough reason.”

Nari doesn’t argue. Instead, she steps closer. “Frieda promised to send me a letter every three days.” She glances at a shelf. “And she did.” Her voice wavers. “I kept them all. I can give them to you.”

Historia’s breath catches. 

“The last letter came two weeks ago.” Nari’s eyes darken with worry. “Frieda said she was going somewhere important. She told me that if she missed three updates, I was to give you a letter.” Her hands tighten at her sides. “She’s missed four.”

Historia feels something sink in her chest. No. She shakes her head slowly.

Nari's voice falters as she adds, “I’m sorry, but if Frieda is in danger—”

Historia’s mind races. Frieda ran. Frieda headed to the Sanctuary. Frieda could be—

No.

The library is quiet except for the occasional rustle of pages. The lights illuminate rows of wooden desks and bookshelves filled with thick, well-worn textbooks. At one of the larger tables, Mikasa sits with Sasha, Jean, and Connie, all hunched over their notes.

Exams are coming...soon.

Connie groans, slumping forward dramatically until his forehead meets the open pages of his textbook. "I hate math," he mutters, voice muffled. "Why do we have to do math? Why couldn’t we live in a world where school was something useful, like crime fighting? Or monster hunting?"

Mikasa snickers, shaking her head at the irony.

Jean smirks, flicking his pencil at Connie. "If we lived in that world, you'd be the first to die."

"Hey!" Connie lifts his head, scowling. "That’s not true. I’d be the comic relief. Comic relief never dies!"

"You’d trip on your own weapon and get eaten," Jean counters.

Sasha sighs and leans back in her chair, stretching. "I just wish I could eat my way through this exam. Food solves everything."

Mikasa flips through her chemistry notes, her mind barely on the conversation. The neat handwriting—half hers, half Eren’s—fills the pages, formulas and reactions scrawled in the margins. Most of the work in these notes was done with him in class. She wonders when their next date will be. What it will be.

She liked the first one more than she’s willing to admit. Liked spending time with him, talking to Eren, watching him smile at her. There had been something different about that day. She hasn’t told anyone about it. Not yet. Not until she figures out what to do with these feelings.

"Mikasa," Sasha says suddenly, waving a hand in front of her face.

Mikasa blinks. "What?"

Sasha frowns. "You’re totally spacing out. I said I don’t get this whole thing about—" she gestures vaguely at the textbook in front of her, "—whatever this is."

Mikasa glances down at the topic. Thermodynamics. She nods. "Yeah… I don’t really get it either." She hesitates for half a second before remembering. "I saw a textbook on it out back a few moments ago. I’ll go grab it."

She pushes her chair back, standing smoothly. Her boots barely make a sound against the wooden floor as she moves between the rows of shelves. The library is vast, the scent of old pages and ink hanging in the air, and the deeper she goes, the quieter it gets.

She doesn't hear the others anymore.

Only the sound of her own breathing. The rustle of fabric as she adjusts her scarf.

And then, a voice.

"Hey."

Mikasa stops. Turns.

Eren stands near one of the back shelves, leaning casually against the wood, hands in his pockets, watching her. And just like that, Mikasa's heart beats a little faster.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

Eren shrugs. "Studying with Armin. Saw you walk past and figured I’d say hi."

She nods slowly, processing that, but neither of them speaks right away. 

Then Eren tilts his head. "What are you looking for?"

Mikasa exhales. "Something on thermodynamics," she says. "Sasha and I don’t get it."

Eren nods then steps closer, scanning the nearby shelves. "Hang on… I think Armin and I got something on that." His fingers trail along the spines of books until he pulls one free. "Here. Thermodynamics for Dummies. Which, honestly, sounds about right."

Mikasa can’t help it—she smiles. She takes the book from him, fingers brushing against his. "Thanks."

Eren watches her for a beat, then, without warning, reaches up and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch sends a small shiver down Mikasa’s spine.

He leans in just slightly. "Would you like our next date to be tonight?"

Mikasa’s breath catches. Her eyes widen. "Tonight?"

Eren nods. "Tonight." He pauses, then adds, "At the clock tower."

Mikasa hesitates. The clock tower is one of the tallest buildings on campus, an old structure with a winding staircase leading up to the observation deck. It's off-limits after dark, which is why she got kidnapped in front of it.

She presses her lips together, considering.

"This time, I'll be there so nothing will happen. You'll be safe," Eren murmurs. "I promise."

She holds his gaze and memories of all the times he's saved her flash through her mind. She nods. "Okay."

He grins. And something in her stomach flutters.

Eren smiles. "I'll meet you in front of the tower at seven."

Mikasa doesn't respond, but she does grips the book a little tighter.

Eren lingers for half a second longer, then shifts back, stepping away. "I’ll leave first."

Mikasa doesn’t stop him. She watches as he turns, slipping back between the shelves, disappearing from view as quickly as he arrived. She stands there for a moment, still hugging the book to her chest.

Tonight.

Chapter Text

Mikasa stands at the base of the clock tower, shifting on her feet as she glances around. The air is cold, the night stretching wide over the academy grounds. The tower looms below her, its silhouette dark against the sky, the faint ticking of the massive clock hands the only sound in the silence.

She remembers the last time she was here, moments before Zeke took, she, and Armin. Something cold trickles down her spine. It was dark then.

And now, it's even darker.

But Eren is supposed to meet her here.

Mikasa wraps her scarf a little tighter, pulling it up to her mouth. He's not late. She shouldn't be worried.

Then, from behind her, a voice calls out,

"You came."

Mikasa spins around, her heart thudding in her chest. But her pulse slows, just a little, when she sees him. Eren. Walking toward her.

She exhales, stepping closer.

He stops in front of her, a grin crossing his face, before he gestures toward the door. "Come on."

She follows him inside.

The moment the heavy wooden door shuts behind them, the outside world disappears. The library had been quiet, but this, this is silence. The air is dense with the scent of aged wood and metal, and the space is barely lit by the moonlight filtering in through narrow slats in the walls.

Eren moves ahead of her, his footsteps barely making a sound on the winding staircase that coils upward into darkness. Her hand trails along the railing as he leads her higher. "When I first started attending Survey Academy, I used to sneak around a lot. Looking for places to be alone." He glances back at her. "Then I found this."

They climb higher. The stairs groan beneath their weight, the air growing thinner, cooler. And then—

Eren pushes open a door at the top. Mikasa steps through, and her breath catches.

The room is dim, the walls lined with gears and machinery. The massive clock face towers above them, its glass slightly fogged with age. Beyond it—beyond the translucent surface of the clock—lies the academy.

The entire school stretches out beneath them. From here, she can see everything—the dorms, the classrooms, the gardens. Even the library, where she had been only hours ago, now small and distant.

Mikasa moves closer, placing her hand against the cool glass. "I love it," she breathes.

Eren watches her. "I thought you might."

They sit together, backs against the wooden floor, the view of the academy spread out before them. Mikasa is quiet for a while, taking it in while Eren empties out his bag. She turns to him.

"Before we start...I have questions," she says.

Eren looks up at her, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She nods. "About your world. The other realities." She hesitates, then exhales. "I saw something once. A vision. It was… me. But not me. Another version of me. She was with you."

He pauses, then pushes his bag aside and sits next to her. Mikasa swallows. She's nervous. How is she supposed to tell him about this?

"What was in the vision?" he asks softly.

"Uh..." She takes a deep breath. "You were with a Mikasa and you two were... kissing. Making out really. It was really intense."

Eren goes rigid.

Mikasa studies his face, the way his jaw tenses. "I've been wondering about it," she continues. "Wondering if you—if you’ve been with other versions of me, besides the version of me in your reality anyway."

Eren exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "You saw that?" His voice is almost horrified.

Mikasa nods. "I did."

He looks away, shaking his head. "Shit."

For a long moment, he says nothing. Mikasa waits, watching him. Eventually, he sighs. "I wasn’t involved with anyone," he says quietly. "Not like that, not even with Mikasa in my reality."

She tilts her head, waiting for him to explain.

Eren runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "It was the first time I ever jumped into another Eren Yeager’s body. I didn’t know what was happening. I just—" He pauses, frowning as he stares at the academy below. "I saw them. That Eren and that Mikasa. And… some part of me was jealous."

Mikasa blinks. "Jealous?"

He nods. "Jealous that he had that, and I didn't, that he could be with her and I couldn't. I don’t know how it happened. One moment, I was staring at them, and the next… I was him. Inside his body. At first, I thought it was a dream. Like I was just imagining it. I didn’t want to believe it was real." He exhales. "When I realized what was happening, I sort of freaked out and was out of his body immediately."

He continues. "Staying here is easy, because the Eren is this universe is gone. That space where his soul used to be is empty and I can occupy it. When I entered others, it didn't feel right after a while, it was like I had to make a conscious effort to stay in that body. If I got distracted, if I let myself slip, I would fall out. Sometimes, those versions of me would even fight back. I didn't belong there. If Eren Yeager hadn't died in that accident, I wouldn't belong here either."

Silence.

Mikasa processes his words, the way he’s gripping his hands together. "Eren," she says softly.

He doesn’t look at her.

Mikasa shifts closer, studying his profile. Then she raises her hand and places a hand on his cheek, guiding him to face her. She cradles his cheek, brushing her thumb across his skin. "It's okay," she murmurs.

Eren watches her. His green eyes are dark, almost vulnerable.

She swallows hard, her heart racing. But she doesn’t let go. Eren reaches up and grabs her wrist then he pulls it forward and presses his lips against the inside of her palm.

Mikasa's breath hitches. She can feel his breath against her skin, sending a rush of heat through her.

Eren pulls back. Mikasa blinks, staring at him, her breath catching. Her eyes meet his, and his lips are still slightly parted, his face closer than she realized.

Her eyes drop to her lips.

It’s the smallest movement, barely noticeable, but Eren sees it. He barely has time to react before Mikasa makes the decision for both of them.

She closes the space between them, pressing her lips to his.

Eren goes still. For a second, Mikasa wonders if she’s made a mistake, if she’s misread everything—but then he moves.

His hand cups the back of her neck, tilting her head as he deepens the kiss. It’s slow at first. But then Eren makes a low sound in the back of his throat, and suddenly, it’s not slow.

Mikasa barely has time to react before she’s being pulled closer, Eren’s hand sliding to her waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of her jacket. He moves her so she's straddling his lap. The heat of his skin radiates through his shirt.

"Fuck," Eren whispers against her lips before kissing her again. It turns desperate, almost reckless, like something pent up is finally breaking free. Mikasa gasps, her fingers tangling in his hair as his teeth graze her lower lip. She can taste him, can feel his arms wrapping around her.

His fingers brush against her hip, teasing the bare skin underneath the hem of her shirt. She arches her back, pressing into him. The motion draws a moan from the back of his throat, his grip tightening.

Mikasa doesn't remember making the conscious decision to grind down, but she does.

A groan rips from the back of his throat as he presses back, pushing his hips up. She can feel him. Feel him through his jeans, the friction building a wave of heat between her thighs.

Her breath is uneven. She feels his grip tighten as his tongue slides against hers. She wants to be closer, needs it, but they're still clothed and it's not enough.

It's not—

Eren breaks away, panting as he presses his forehead against hers. "Fuck, we have to stop."

Mikasa's thoughts are a blur, her body hot and trembling, but she tries to process his words. "Why?"

"Because I—" He stops, a muscle in his jaw ticking. His eyes darken, his gaze trailing down her body, lingering at the edge of her scarf, where her chest rises and falls.

"I want you," he says slowly, and the intensity of in his voice sends a shiver through her. "But not like this."

Mikasa swallows. She wants it too. So bad. She needs it.

Eren drags his hands through his hair, inhaling shakily. "When we do this, I want to be able to take my time. I want you to be comfortable." He shakes his head. "We can't. Not here."

Mikasa doesn't respond right away. But eventually, she nods. She leans in and kisses him softly.

It's enough for now.

"Why the hell isn't he answering?"

Historia grits her teeth, frustration tightening her grip on her phone. Why isn’t Eren picking up? She presses the call button again, listening to the ring, willing him to answer. But it goes to voicemail—again.

Her chest tightens. He always answers.

She stops in front of her dorm room. With a sigh, she pushes the door open and steps inside. It’s dark, but before she can turn on the light, an arm wraps around her waist, pulling her back against something solid.

Historia barely has time to yelp before warm lips press softly against hers.

Ymir.

A familiar scent—something wild, something hers—fills her senses, and some of the tension bleeds from her shoulders. Ymir tastes like cigarettes and chocolate, and Historia sinks into the kiss, her hand reaching up to thread through her girlfriend's hair.

Ymir grins against her lips. "Missed me, baby?"

Historia exhales, trying to shake off her irritation, but there's still a slight edge to her voice. "Yeah, I missed you."

Being around Ymir always makes her feel lighter.

Ymir lets Historia go, but her gaze lingers as Historia moves toward her side of the room—the side she barely uses, because Ymir’s bed is warmer, better.

Ymir drops into a chair, watching her. Historia busies herself, pulling off her jacket, avoiding her girlfriend's  eyes, but it doesn’t last long.

“What’s wrong?” Ymir asks.

Historia keeps her head down. “Nothing.”

"You look tense."

Historia doesn't respond.

“Historia.” Ymir’s voice is firm. “We promised. No secrets.”

Historia stiffens. For a second, she considers lying, pushing it aside, but Ymir knows her too well. She swallows, then looks up. “I got a letter," she murmurs.

Ymir’s brows pull together. “A letter?”

Historia nods, gripping the fabric of her sleeve. “From Frieda.”

Ymir goes still. “Really?” she says after a beat. “That means she’s alive.” A grin tugs at her lips. “That’s—Historia, that’s good news. It's great news even!"

But Historia shakes her head.

She steps forward, her hands curling into fists as the words start tumbling out. She tells Ymir everything—what she knows, what she doesn’t know, the gnawing fear in her chest. She tells her about Nari, about the sanctuary, how they don’t have much time, how they need to finalize the plan now. She needs Eren, Erwin, everyone on board—

Ymir reaches out and takes her hands, squeezing. “Breathe.”

Historia swallows, her breath coming fast. "Eren isn't picking up. I don't know why but..."

“Calm down,” Ymir murmurs. “It’s late so I'm pretty sure he's just asleep. We’ll go to Principal Erwin in the morning, okay?”

Historia feels something hot behind her eyes. But she bites her lip, forcing the panic down, and nods. Still, she can't shake the feeling that if Frieda is even still alive...

She might not have until morning.

Chapter Text

The town's skyline spreads out before them as Eren drives, one hand resting casually on the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh. Streetlights flicker past the windows, illuminating his face in golden streaks. Mikasa watches him for a moment before glancing at the dashboard.

“Is this your dad’s car?” she asks.

Eren nods. “Yeah. I asked Erwin for access to leave campus for a bit and borrowed the car my dad.”

She raises a brow. “What excuse did you give?”

He smirks. “That I was taking you out to unwind before exams.”

Mikasa’s lips twitch. “Smart.”

Eren grins in response. A few minutes later, he pulls into a quiet street lined with small shops. An ice cream parlor sits nestled between a bookstore and a café, its warm yellow lights spilling onto the sidewalk. There's a neon sign above the entrance.

Mikasa steps out of the car, taking in the sight. The place is small, almost tucked away, but the scent of freshly baked waffle cones fills the air. She glances at Eren, and he looks back at her expectantly.

She smiles. “It’s cute.”

Inside, the parlor is just as charming. The walls are decorated with vintage posters of sundaes and milkshakes, and a glass display case showcases a rainbow of flavors. A few other customers sit scattered around the pace, some chatting quietly, others lost in their desserts.

Eren leads her to the counter, where they scan the list of flavors. They place their orders—her favorite is rich and nutty, and his is something fruity. The employee hands them their cups, and they move to a small table by the window.

As they sit down, Eren seems different. Brighter. His usual intensity is softened by something childlike. He takes a spoonful of his ice cream, staring at it for a moment before breaking into a small, amused smile.

Mikasa tilts her head. “Do you really like ice cream?”

Eren blinks at her, as if just realizing he was smiling. “No, it’s just…” He glances at his cup again. “In my world, I never tasted this. Didn’t even know it existed.” His fingers tighten slightly around the spoon. “But I remember the first time we found it. Me, Armin, Sasha, you… Your faces when you had ice cream for the first time.”

Mikasa watches him carefully.

He stirs his ice cream absently. “I remember you offering yours to me, how excited you were. It was probably the last normal conversation we had before everything went… bad.”

She stares at him for a long moment.  he never tasted ice cream? What kind of world was that?

She digs her spoon into her cup, scooping up a bite before holding it out to him. “Here,” she says. “Try it.”

Eren hesitates, blinking at her, but then he leans forward slightly, lips wrapping around the spoon. He pulls back, thoughtful, before swallowing.

Mikasa grins. “Well?”

He exhales, licking his lips. “It’s cold. And really sweet.”

She nods. “Can I try yours?”

“Sure.”

Eren offers his cup, and Mikasa takes a spoonful. The flavor bursts on her tongue. It's tangy, refreshing, with just the right amount of sweetness. Her eyes widen. “Woah,” she says, savoring it. “That’s so good.”

He chuckles, watching her with soft eyes. “You’ve got a little something…” He gestures near her lip.

Mikasa frowns slightly. “Where?”

Before she can reach up to wipe it off, Eren leans in. He moves smoothly, his frame shifting forward to shield her from view as he presses a soft kiss against the corner of her lips.

Mikasa gasps, her breath hitching. A rush of heat blooms in her chest, creeping up her neck.

Eren leans back, a smile playing at his lips. “Got it.”

Mikasa stares at him, wide-eyed, heart pounding against her ribs. But instead of saying anything, she only reaches up and presses her fingers against the spot, as if the pressure could cool the heat that spreads across her skin.

She clears her throat, turning away. Her cheeks burn.

Eren snickers.

They fall into a comfortable silence, finishing their desserts. Occasionally, the clink of metal spoons against glass cups fills the air. Mikasa watches Eren, the way his spoon idly stirs his melting ice cream, the way his gaze flickers between her and the table, as if he's trying to make sure she's having a good time.

She leans forward slightly. “What was it like?”

Eren looks up. “What?”

“When you first arrived here. After everything.”

His grip tightens around his spoon. “It was… disorienting,” he admits. “Like waking up from a nightmare only to realize you don’t know where you are.” His voice drops slightly. “I didn’t even know if I was still me.”

Mikasa doesn’t interrupt, letting him speak.

“I didn’t trust anything at first,” he continues. “Not the people, not the world. It felt too normal. Too good.” A short, humorless chuckle escapes him. “I thought I was in some kind of illusion. That I’d wake up any second and—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “I didn’t know what to do. Then I met Erwin."

She tilts her head slightly. “How?”

Eren exhales through his nose. “One day, I caught a man taking pictures of me.” He leans back against his chair. “Turns out, Erwin was investigating the Reiss family and, that led him to me."

Mikasa frowns slightly. “Why?”

“My guess at the time was that they were aware of the damage I caused in the one thousandth reality, so they were keeping tabs on me here," Eren says simply. “Erwin found out they had been watching me and wondered what the family's interest in a nineteen-year-old student was." He stirs his ice cream again, gaze flickering down to it. “So, I told him everything."

Her eyebrows lift. “Just like that?”

He smiles. “I needed a partner if I was going to investigate Rod Reiss, and Erwin… he needed more than just suspicions.” He lets the spoon drop into his cup. “His father used to work for them.”

Mikasa straightens slightly.

“He was a historian, an archivist. One day, he dug too deep, asked too many questions, and then—” Eren lifts a hand, snapping his fingers. “He was dead.”

Mikasa looks down at her cup, her fingers tightening slightly around it. “That’s awful.”

Eren nods. “Erwin’s dedicated the rest of his life to finding out why his father had to die.”

Mikasa doesn’t know what to say to that. She’s always seen Erwin as the confident  principal—the man who holds everything together. But now… now she feels kind of sorry for him.

She exhales softly. “So, are there some things that repeat themselves?"

Eren glances at her. Then he gives a small nod. “Yeah. A few.” He leans back, tilting his head slightly, as if sorting through his thoughts. “Me and Armin—we still became best friends. You and I still met.” His voice softens. “Your parents…”

Mikasa looks away before he can finish.

Eren takes a deep breath. “I’ve realized that while there are constants, there are some things I can change.” His hands tighten into fists on the table. “And some things I can't.”

She looks at him again.

“I don’t mind though, not anymore,” he adds. “I’ll fight them.” He lifts his gaze to hers.

Mikasa presses her lips together, not responding. She knows just what he's referring to. E

Eren leans forward slightly, just enough that his scent fills her senses. For a moment, the world feels distant, like it's just the two of them and no one else. “In this universe,” he says softly, “I don’t care what I have to do. We’re going to be happy.”

Her heart pounds against her ribs.

"Can he do that? Can I fight for us?"

Mikasa blinks at him, lips parting slightly, and then, in a soft voice barely above a whisper, she says, “Yes.”

The drive back is quiet. A song plays on the radio, but Mikasa barely registers the lyrics. Her mind is spinning. She feels like she should say something, but the words aren’t coming. Instead, she just stares at the world outside.

She doesn’t want the night to end like this. Not yet.

When they pull up outside the school clinic, Eren shifts the car into park but doesn’t move to turn it off. He just sits there, fingers flexing around the steering wheel, staring at the dashboard like he’s sorting through a thousand thoughts at once.

Mikasa watches him for a moment, then makes up her mind. Before she can second-guess herself, she unbuckles her seatbelt and shifts toward him. Her fingers brush lightly over his wrist, and he tenses, finally turning to meet her gaze.

“Yeah?" he asks, tilting his head.

She leans in, close enough to see the hesitation behind his green eyes. "Come to the back with me," she says softly.

"W-what?"

Mikasa doesn't respond. She turns off the headlights and moves into the back seat, pulling him after her. They both fit in the small space, legs and knees bumping together. Her fingers are still curled around his wrist.

Eren raises an eyebrow, looking slightly bewildered.

Mikasa hesitates. This is new territory, and she isn't sure what to say. How to explain the way she feels right now. Eren is still holding back. She can see it in the way his hands rest against his thighs instead of touching her, in the way his breathing is heavier. He wants this—she knows he does—but something is stopping him.

So she takes the lead.

Mikasa reaches up, fingers trailing over his jaw before pulling him down into a kiss. It’s slow at first. She wants him to feel this, to understand that she’s not afraid. That she trusts him.

Eren stiffens for half a second, then lets out a breath against her lips, the last of his restraint slipping. His hands finally lift, one sliding to her waist, the other coming up to cradle the back of her head.

She breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to murmur, "Eren, I—"

But he doesn't let her finish.

His hands come up, cupping her face, and he kisses her hard. It's passionate, like something's shifted. He moves forward, pushing her back until her shoulders press against the leather seat.

Her breath hitches as his lips trail along her jaw, down the side of her neck. His hand slides under her shirt, fingertips skimming across her ribs. Her heart pounds against her ribs.

He presses against her, his thigh sliding between her legs, and she moans. Her hips arch up, searching for friction.

She's wanted this since their last date.

Eren's hands move under his shirt, trailing up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin. He tugs the collar of her shirt down, lips brushing against the curve of her breast. Her breath comes faster.

She feels dizzy. Her head spins.

He nips at the side of her neck, tongue tracing over the marks. "I want you so bad." His voice is low, almost a growl, and his words send a rush of heat through her.

Mikasa swallows. She can't get any words out.

Eren's hand slips under her bra, palming her breast, and she moans again, arching into his touch.

"Shit," he says, voice strained.

Then suddenly, his body jerks back, his grip loosening.

For a second, Mikasa is confused. She narrows her eyes, reaching up, her hands finding his jaw and pulling him back to her.

"Don't stop," she whispers, voice breathy.

He stares at her for a moment, then he takes her wrist and presses a kiss against her palm. "Not now. Not like this," he murmurs. "And definitely not at the back of my dad's car."

Mikasa frowns. "B-but—"

Eren smiles. He leans in, kissing her gently. "Come on, let's go. We'll continue next time," he promises, pulling away. He opens the door, stepping out and moving to the driver's side.

Mikasa resists the urge to groan, adjusting her shirt and smoothing her hair.

This is going to be a lot harder than she thought.

Chapter Text

“Where the hell have you been?”

Eren pauses two steps into Erwin's office. Behind him, Armin shuts the door slowly. His head tilts as he stares at Historia. She looks upset, her blue eyes burning with frustration.

"Around," he responds.

Her hands clench into fists at her sides. “You haven’t been picking up my calls.”

He shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

"Busy with what?"

Mikasa.

Even the thought of her name sends a thrill through him. He swallows, running through the memory of her breathless voice from his mind. He will admit that ever since Zeke showed up and Mikasa found out the truth, he hasn't been able to think of anything else but her. He's left most of their plans in Erwin's hands and given all his attention to the girl of his dreams. 

Eren needed a break. He was drowning, but Mikasa was his anchor. The time spent with her had brought him a bit of clarity and it paid off too. Mikasa went on three dates with him and made out with him on the last. He can't complain.

But Historia doesn't need to know any of this.

Her eyes narrow, and for a second, it looks like she's going to scream. "What could possibly be more important than the shit we’re fighting?”

For a moment, the room holds its breath.

Eren raises an eyebrow. "Okay, first off, watch your tone and, don't ever speak to me like that again."

She grimaces.

Armin clears his throat, placing a hand on Eren's shoulder. "Let's try not to get distracted," he says. "We're all overwhelmed here."

Eren narrows his eyes, first at Historia, then at Erwin, who sits behind his desk, pen in hand, observing the exchange in silence. There’s something about the way he watches them and Eren can tell he's calculating something in his head.

He sighs, turning back to Historia. “What happened?” he asks. “You don’t usually get this worked up unless something did.”

She hesitates, jaw tightening, before Erwin speaks up.

“Historia received a letter from Frieda.”

Eren's eyes widen slightly and even Armin gasps. Erwin picks up a folded sheet of paper from his desk and extends it toward Eren, who takes it without a word. He unfolds it, eyes scanning the contents quickly. His expression remains blank, but Armin can see the way his fingers tense slightly against the edges of the paper.

“When did you get this?” Eren asks without looking up.

“A couple of days ago,” Historia replies. “But Frieda’s been gone for longer.”

Eren lowers the letter.

Erwin leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “We have to create a plan to access the Sanctuary as soon as possible.”

Historia nods. “Zeke is very particular about who he lets in, even if they’re family. But I spoke to my father and he's contacting him.”

Erwin doesn’t look satisfied. “We need a plan before that happens. We need to prepare you.” He looks directly at Historia. “You’ll go in, scout the place, give us a clear view of how many enemies we’re dealing with, the layout, what exactly we’re up against. “So, we know how to do this.”

Historia nods but Eren says nothing. His gaze flickers to the letter once more, thoughts running too fast for him to voice.

Armin notices. “What are you thinking?”

Eren turns to him. “I’m thinking,” he says slowly, “I'm thinking about where we’re going to get an army.”

"An army?" Historia repeats.

Eren doesn't answer. His gaze is fixed on Erwin. "If you're planning on attacking the Reiss family, you need soldiers, people willing to fight."

Erwin leans back in his chair. Then, with a confidence that sends a shiver down Erwin's spine, he says, “Leave that to me.”

***

Armin steps out of the classroom, letting out a breath as if the stress of the exam is finally leaving his chest. He adjusts his grip on the textbook in his arms and turns to Eren, who walks beside him, scrolling through his phone.

“How was it?” Armin asks.

Eren shrugs. “It was okay. I think I did good.”

Armin smiles, nodding. That’s a relief. Even if Eren doesn’t always take these things as seriously as he does, it’s good to know he’s keeping up. He hugs the textbook a little closer to his chest until something catches his eye.

Or someone.

Annie.

She’s a little further down the hall, standing with Reiner and Bertholdt. Armin blinks at her, and his smile falters.

The reality of everything they’re about to do crashes down on him. In just a few weeks—maybe even less—they’ll be fighting for their lives at the Sanctuary. There won’t be classrooms or exams to worry about, just survival. And Armin will have to execute his plan. A plan that Eren still doesn’t know about.

His fingers tighten against the book’s spine.

What if something happens? What if he never gets the chance to talk to her again?

His stomach twists, and before he can second-guess himself, he shoves the book into Eren’s hands.

Eren blinks down at it. “Uh—?”

Armin doesn’t give him a chance to finish. He’s already walking, crossing the hall, closing the space between himself and Annie before he can think too hard and lose his nerve.

Reiner notices him first, raising an eyebrow. Bertholdt follows, shifting uncomfortably. Annie, though, she looks at him and smiles.

“What’s up, Arlert?” she asks, hands tucked into her pockets.

Armin stops in front of them. And suddenly, his brain blanks out.

He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Reiner and Bertholdt are watching him, and after the vision he had of them a few days ago—of what they were in the original reality—he doesn’t want them even looking him. But it’s too late to turn back now.

So, he forces himself to focus on Annie, on her pretty eyes and the way her hair frames her face. “I was wondering,” he starts, feeling every single nerve in his body light up, “if you’d like to hang out after exams are over.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Reiner snickers. “What?”

Bertholdt looks absolutely horrified.

Armin ignores them, forcing himself to keep looking at Annie. She tilts her head at him. The longer she stays silent, the more he feels the ground beneath him start to sink. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe he should just...

“Sure,” she says.

Armin’s brain short-circuits.

She holds out a hand. He blinks at it. “Your phone?” she prompts.

“Oh!” He fumbles, nearly dropping the damn thing in his rush to pull it from his pocket. His fingers shake slightly as he hands it over. Annie takes it, types something in, then passes it back. 

"Text me," she says with a smile.

He nods, gripping his phone like it might vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

With that, she waves and walks away, Reiner and Bertholdt trailing after her. They both glance at him, but Armin barely notices. He’s still trying to process what just happened.

Then, there's a presence at his side.

Eren.

He tilts his head, staring at Armin like he’s grown another head. “Did you just ask Annie out?”

Armin opens his mouth. Closes it. Then—still in disbelief—he lets out a breath and says,

“…Yeah.”

"I see," Eren says, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Well, when you're done drooling, we need to go see Erwin .And we need to call Historia and Ymir.”

"I don't drool!" Armin counters as they make their way down the hallway.

Eren's lips twitch. "Yes, you do," he says as they exit the building.

"Okay, well, at least I don't look like I've lost my breath every time Mikasa is in the same room."

Eren rolls his eyes and Armin says something else, but he barely registers it.

Because he hears a soft laugh.

His head snaps up, eyes scanning the school courtyard until they land on her.

Mikasa.

She’s sitting with Sasha, Connie and Jean, a plate of half-eaten food in front of her, still mid-laugh when her gaze lifts and meets his. She blinks. Her smile falters for the briefest second—then, just as quickly, it returns.

Eren can’t breathe.

"There it is," Armin murmurs.

Mikasa lifts a hand and waves before excusing herself from the table. Sasha, Jean and Connie watch her go, confused looks on their faces, but Eren doesn’t care. His focus is locked on Mikasa, and when she stops in front of them, it’s all he can do to keep his heartbeat steady.

“Hey, Armin,” she greets with a small smile before turning to him.

Eren forces himself to stay calm. “Hey.”

“Hi.” She tilts her head slightly. “How was your first exam?”

“Good. Yours?”

She nods. “Good.”

Armin glances between them. Then he clears his throat. “I’m gonna call Historia,” he says, stepping away before either of them can say anything.

Mikasa watches him go, then turns back to Eren. “Historia?” she echoes. “What’s going on? Is something happening?”

Eren stiffens. He doesn’t want to bring her into this. Not this fight. Not this war. He hesitates, then reaches for her hand, squeezing it lightly. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Mikasa’s expression shifts. She frowns, tilting her head just slightly. “You’re lying.”

Eren swallows.

“I want to come with you,” she says.

“No.”

“Why not?”

He doesn’t answer, but she sees it anyway. And then, before he can stop her, she turns and runs off.

“I’m getting my bag.”

Eren groans, dragging a hand down his face. He glances at Armin, who simply shrugs, still speaking into his phone.

It’s not long before Mikasa returns, bag slung over her shoulder. She raises a hand before he can open his mouth, cutting him off before he can even try.

“You’re not going to change my mind.”

"It could be dangerous."

"More than the danger we've already been in? Like the time I got kidnapped or the time you got shot and nearly died?"

Eren frowns. "It wasn't that..."

Mikasa raises a brow.

"Alright, fine. But..."

"Eren?" Armin calls his name. “We should go.”

Eren glances at him, then back at Mikasa.

He exhales one last time then, finally, he nods. “Fine.”

He takes her hand, leading her through the cafeteria, past the murmuring voices and the lingering stares. He smirks when he looks back and catches Jean watching them.

Good.

Let him watch.

Oh, you are SO in trouble when you get back. You have to explain why you and Eren Yeager were HOLDING HANDS?? Does he know about the spicy dreams you have of him???

Mikasa snickers at the text from Sasha, shaking her head.

Eren, walking beside her, catches the sound. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says smoothly, locking her phone and slipping it back into her pocket. She reaches for his arm, holding onto it as they move through the dense forest.

Armin glances around uneasily. “Why do we have to be out in the woods for this? It’s kind of… creepy.”

Eren doesn’t slow down. “This way,” he says as his grip on Mikasa’s hand tightens.

The woods stretch around them. The air is cool, filled with the scent of earth and leaves, and Armin’s shoes crunch softly over fallen twigs. The deeper they go, the quieter it becomes.

Finally, the trees open up into a small clearing, and the three of them come to a halt. A group of people stand scattered across the space, some murmuring in low voices, others with their arms crossed, tense. Mikasa tenses beside Eren and Armin lets out a deep breath.

Eren narrows his eyes. “What is this?” he asks, gaze shifting across the unfamiliar faces before locking onto the one he does know. “Who are all these people?”

From the center of the group, Erwin steps forward, hands in his pockets. Eren lets go off Mikasa and moves toward the principal.

Erwin doesn't miss a beat. "You said you wanted an army."

Eren stops. "Who—"

“These,” Erwin says, “are some of the family members of the people who have gone missing in our key locations over the past few months."

Eren stiffens.

Erwin looks him in the eye. “You wanted people who were willing to fight?” He gestures to the group before him. “Well. Here they are.”